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DARTMOOR    IDYLLS 


BY  THE   SAME  AUTHOR 


IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA 
THE  QUEEN  OF  LOVE 
CHEAP  JACK  ZITA 

MRS.  CURGENVEN  OF  CURGENVEN 

ARMINELL 

JACQUETTA 

URITH 

KITTY  ALONE 

MARGERY  OF  QUETHER 

NOEMI 

THE  BROOM-SQUIRE 


DARTMOOR  IDYLLS 


BY 

S."  BARING-GOULD 


METHUEN  &  CO. 
36,    ESSEX   STREET,  W.C. 
LONDON 
1896 


RICHARD  CLAY  &  SONS,  LIMITED, 
LONDON  &  BUNGAY. 


D37 


f 

CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.      JOHN   AND   JOAN        ...  ...  ...  I 

II.       DANIEL  JACOBS            ...  ...  ...  51 

III.       SNAILY   HOUSE             ...  ...  ...  69 

iv.     EPHRAIM'S  PINCH     ...  ...  ...  105 

V.       LITTLE   DIXIE                ...  ...  ...  121 

VI.      JONAS   COAKER             ...  ...  ...  137 

VII.      GOOSIE-VAIR                   ...  ...  ...  157 

VIII.      THE   HAMMETTS           ...  ...  ...  l8l 

IX.      JOLLY   LANE   COT        ...  ...  ...  2OI 

X.      GREEN   RUSHES,  O!    ...  ...  ...  215 

XI.       AN   OLD   CROSS             ...  ...  ...  239 


JOHN  AND  JOAN 


IT  did  not  get  into  the  papers. 

If,  now,  the  story  of  John  and  Joan's 
adventures  during  the  memorable  blizzard  of 
1891  does  appear  in  print  it  will  not  concern 
that  couple,  for  neither  of  them  is  a  reader, 
for  the  very  good  reason  that  neither  of 
them  can  read  at  all. 

That  is  something  for  a  man  and  a 
woman  to  be  able  to  plume  themselves 
upon  in  these  days  of  advanced  education. 

But,  although  John  and  Joan  are  not 
able  to  read,  and  likewise  unable  to  write, 
they  are  the  joint  authors  of  a  literary 
production  which  will  outlast  our  century, 
and  that  also  is  more  than  most  authors  can 
say  in  these  days  of  ephemeral  publications. 

This  production  was  written  at  the 
dictation  of  John  and  Joan.  It  was  not 
impressed  on  paper  with  printers'  ink,  but 


2  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

was  inscribed  on  a  slate  slab  with  a  graving- 
tool. 

This  work  was  composed  and  engraved 
some  ten  years  ago,  and,,  although  in  1891 
it  was  slightly  added  to,  it  has  not  been 
completed  and  published  yet.  Its  com 
pletion  and  publication  are  dependent  on  a 
contingency  which  has,  happily,  not  yet 
taken  place.  In  a  word,  this  literary 
achievement — the  result  of  the  intellectual 
efforts  of  John  and  Joan — is  their  tomb 
stone,  which  is  preserved  in  their  cottage, 
and  is  there  conned  daily  by  them.  Neither 
knows  the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  yet  both 
can  read  what  is  written  on  the  headstone,  for 
they  know  what  the  lines  and  curves  and  dots 
are  intended  to  represent.  In  March,  1891, 
the  monumental  inscription  stood  thus  : — 

§totttb  to  the  JEemorg 

OF 

JOHN  AND  JOAN  NOBLE, 

Who  were  born  the  same  day, 

Baptised  the  same  day, 

Confirmed  the  same  day, 

Entered  service  the  same  day, 

Were  married  the  same  day, 

And  became  parents  simultaneous. 

They  died 

"  They  were  lovely  and  pleasant  in  their  lives,  and  in 
death  they  were  not  divided." — 2  SAM,  i.  23. 


JOHN  AND  JOAN  3 

The  cutter  of  the  headstone — "monu 
mental  engraver  "  he  entitled  himself — had 
some  difficulty  with  John  and  Joan  over  his 
work.  They  were  ungrammatical.  They 
were  unreasonable. 

As  instance  of  ungrammaticality  they 
desired  to  have  the  sentence  run,  "  Who 
icas  born  the  same  day,"  &c. 

"'Was,'"  observed  the  sculptor,  "is 
unusual,  to  put  it  mildly ;  to  put  it  strongly, 
is  wrong.  '  Was  '  is  singular." 

"But  our  story  is  both  coorious  and 
singular." 

"You  are  two  individuals,  separate  per 
sonalities,  and,  therefore,  must  be  spoken  of 
with  a  were''' 

"  We  are  one,"  said  John.  "  Scriptur 
saith  so.  They  two  is  one  flesh.  You 
can't  go  against  Scriptur,  Mr.  Tomkins." 

"  But  you  were  not  married  when  you 
were  born,  so  must  be  spoken  of  in  the 
plural  then." 

"  There's  argiment  in  that,"  said  John, 
rubbing  his  head.  "  What  do'y  say  to  that, 
Joan  ?  Shall  we  pass  it  ?  Anyhow,  we  was 
lovers  from  the  cradle ;  and  set  down,  Mr. 
Tomkins,  as  we  was  inocculated  together." 

u  You  surely  are  not  going  to  have  that 
inscribed  ? " 


4  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

"  Why  not  ?  It's  a  terrible  coorious  story. 
Yes,  Joan  and  me  was  inocculated  together. 
It  was  in  a  drawer  of  an  old  cheffonier  with 
brass  mountings.  And  it  wasn't  small-pox 
at  all :  it  turned  out  to  be  chicken-pox 
with  both  of  us :  that  was  coorious." 

To  understand  this  statement  it  is  ne 
cessary  to  know  what  the  term  "  inocu 
lation"  meant  among  the  peasantry  of  the 
West  of  England  till  vaccination  became 
compulsory. 

When  a  child  had  small-pox,  another 
child  was  put  into  the  crib  with  it,  and  kept 
there  till  infected  with  the  disorder.  If  the 
crib  were  too  small  to  accommodate  two 
infants,  then  a  lower  drawer  of  a  chest  was 
taken  and  converted  into  a  temporary  bed 
with  blankets  and  pillows,  and  the  children 
were  placed  therein.  That  was  "  inocula 
tion."  There  is  hardly  an  old  man  or  old 
woman  in  the  West  who  was  not  thus 
inoculated  in  infancy. 

"  You  are  surely  not  going  to  have  this 
on  your  monument !  "  again  deprecated  the 
sculptor. 

"Why  not?  It's  fack.  But,  though 
'twas  chicken-pox,  Joan  and  me  got  pitted, 
each  at  the  top-end  of  our  noses.  You 
may  look  and  convince  yourself." 


JOHN  AND   JOAN  5 

After  much  persuasion  and  representation 
that  he  was  acting  against  his  own  interests 
in  advising  an  omission,  inasmuch  as  pay 
ment  was  at  the  rate  of  twopence  per  letter, 
Mr.  Tomkins  induced  the  old  couple  to 
allow  him  to  omit  the  record  of  their 
inoculation. 

"  We  was  married  the  same  day,"  pro 
ceeded  John. 

"  Of  course  you  were,"  said  the  monu 
mental  artist.  "  You  married  each  other." 

"  Whom  else  should  we  marry  ?  We 
was  lovers  since  we  was  babies.  And  we 
were  both  twenty-one  to  a  day.  Now  that 
also  was  coorious.  And  our  Martha  was 
born  on  the  twenty-ninth  of  January,  and 
so  me  and  Joan  became  parents  the  same 
day." 

"  Naturally — she  was  your  child." 

"  But  it  was  on  the  same  day." 

"  Surely  this  is  not  to  go  down  on  the 
stone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is.  Our  story  is  uncommon 
coorious,  if  you  take  it  all  together.  But  if 
you  leave  out  this  and  you  leave  out  that, 
you  just  spoil  the  whole  thing.  You  must 
take  it  all  or  leave  it  alone." 

"  It  is  arrant  nonsense/'  said  the  sculptor. 
"  This  comes  of  lack  of  education." 


6  DARTMOOR  IDYLLS 

"  I  suppose  it  does,"  said  John  modestly. 
"  But  we  be  both  too  old  to  alter,  and  I 
reckon  it  be  possible  to  enter  Life  Eternal 
wi'out  ABC.  We  have  made  up  our 
minds  what  is  to  go  on  the  stone,  and  we 
can  pay  for  it,  so  have  it  we  will." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  artist,  "  if  that  be 
the  case,  you  shall  have  your  own  way,  but 
you  may  tear  me  with  wild  horses  before  I 
write  that  you  each  have  a  chicken-pox  pit 
on  the  ends  of  your  noses.  I'll  do  the 
stone  for  you,  but  I  forewarn  you :  I  will 
not  append  my  name  at  the  bottom  of  the 
monument.  I  should  be  ashamed  to  do 
so — to  have  such  nonsense  with  ( Tomkins ' 
at  the  foot." 

Then  Joan  flushed  very  red,  and  said, 
"  We  want  to  have  no  other  name  on  our 
stone.  Put  John  there,  and  put  Joan  there, 
and  nothing  else.  We  was  lovely  and 
pleasant  in  our  lives,  and  in  death  we  want 
no  Tomkinses  at  the  foot  nor  nowhere 
about  us." 

One  concession — one  further  concession 
the  couple  did  make.  John  had  desired  to 
have  it  recorded  on  the  headstone  that  he 
and  his  wife  became  parents  the  same  day, 
but  Tomkins  had  pleaded  for  the  word 
"simultaneous."  Then,  after  consultation 


JOHN  AND   JOAN  7 

with  Joan,  the  point  was  conceded.  "  You 
see,  old  woman,  we've  been  down  on 
Tomkins  rather  hard;  we  won't  let  him 
stick  his  name  on  our  moni'ment,  so  we'll 
just  humour  him  in  this  particular,  and  let 
him  write  '  simultaneous '  to  ease  his 
feelings." 

In  course  of  time,  Martha,  the  only 
child  of  the  Nobles,  married,  and  followed 
her  husband,  a  moorman,  to  his  home — a 
cottage,  or  small  farm,  distant,  as  the  crow 
flies  and  the  moorman  rides,  eight  miles, 
but  by  road — the  only  road — as  much  as 
seventeen. 

Martha  in  turn  became  a  mother,  "  which 
makes  it  all  the  more  coorious,"  said  John, 
"  for  now  Joan  and  me  be  grandparents  the 
same  day,  or,  as  Tomkins  and  the  headstone 
says,  '  simultaneous.' '' 

Martha  did  not  recover  her  strength  after 
the  baby  was  born.  She  was  unable  to 
nurse  her  child,  and  was  not  vigorous 
enough  to  both  manage  her  husband's  house 
and  attend  to  the  child.  Accordingly  her 
mother  came  to  her  aid,  and  carried  off  the 
baby.  At  the  time  when  our  story  took 
place  the  babe — his  name  was  Frederick 
Augustus — was  with  his  grandparents. 


DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 


II 


JOHN  and  Joan  occupied  a  lonely  moor 
land  cottage,  or  small  moor- farm,  far  from 
village  and  hamlet.  To  the  east  rose 
heathery  ranges  of  hills  two  thousand  feet 
high,  crowned  with  pointed  and  weathered 
granite  rocks. 

The  cottage  was  built  of  rude  blocks,  and 
was  thatched  with  heather.  The  windows 
were  small,  and  filled  with  green  bullseye 
glass.  Around  it  were  fields  cleared  of 
stones  for  hay,  a  potato  paddock,  and 
sheds. 

The  day  was  Monday,  March  9,  1891. 

John  and  Joan  were  engaged  on  their 
midday  meal,  with  the  door  open,  for  the 
weather  was  warm,  when  they  heard  a  shrill 
call. 

"There's  Whistle-Jack!"  said1  Joan; 
"  whatever  can  ha'  brought  him  here  ?  " 

"Whistles,  I  reckon,"  answered  John. 
"  I'll  buy  one  to  amuse  the  baby." 

"Whistles!"  exclaimed  Joan.  "What 
be  you  a-thinking  of,  John?  If  you  was 


JOHN  AND  JOAN  9 

to  blow  one,  it  would  frighten  the  child  into 
fits." 

"  They  cost  a  penny  and  no  more/'  said 
John.  "  But  there  he  be.  Come  in,  Jack 
Narracot,  and  share  a  bite  wi'  us :  a 
mouthful  o'  potato  pie  and  a  mug  o' 
cider." 

The  man  addressed  stood  in  the  doorway. 
He  was  tall,  gaunt,  halted  on  one  leg,  wore 
very  ragged  garments,  and  whistles  were 
stuck  into  every  available  button-hole,  and 
under  the  ribbon  of  his  discoloured  hat. 

John  Narracot,  or  Whistle- Jack,  as  he 
was  called,  picked  up  a  livelihood  by  com 
bining  many  avocations.  He  made  brooms. 
He  sheared  sheep.  He  trapped  moles.  He 
thatched  cottages  and  ricks.  He  composed 
verses.  He  was  a  ratcatcher.  He  was 
credited  with  being  a  poacher.  Finally,  he 
made  and  sold  whistles.  Broom-cutting 
time  was  in  winter.  Mole-catching  in  April. 
Shearing  time  in  June.  Patent  poisons 
were  exterminating  rats.  Galvanised  iron 
roofing  was  abolishing  thatch.  The  advance 
of  civilisation  was  reducing  the  means  of 
making  a  livelihood  to  Whistle- Jack.  Poems 
Jack  composed  at  all  times  of  the  year  and 
on  all  kinds  of  occasions.  No  birth, 
marriage,  burial  took  place  uncommemorated 


to  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

by  him,  and  he  was  rewarded  for  his  verses 
according  to  the  circumstances  of  the  family 
in  whose  honour  the  poem  was  made.  But 
Board-school  education  and  the  Press  were 
reducing  the  number  of  those  who  cared  to 
hear  the  rude  compositions  of  Narracot,  and 
literature  was  so  cheap  that  his  efforts 
no  longer  met  with  the  remuneration  to 
which  he  had  been  accustomed  in  former 
days. 

"I've  brought  you  a  letter,"  said  the  man 
of  many  trades.  "Her's  been  lying  at 
Millard  Home's  these  two  days.  Saturday 
they  was  too  busy,  Sunday  too  idle  to  attend 
and  send  her  on.  Here  she  be.  I  was 
passing,  so  they  axed  me  to  take  the  letter. 
No  charge  for  postage,  but  what  you  please 
to  give.  And,  maybe,  you'll  buy  a  whistle 
or  two." 

"  I'll  have  a  whistle,  certainly,"  said  John. 
"Sit  down  and  eat  hearty.  The  letter  will 
keep.  I  reckon  it's  about  nothing,  and  is  an 
advertisement.  Joan  and  I  be  no  scholars, 
and  we'll  wait  till  you've  eaten.  Then  you 
can  read  'n  to  us." 

"We  shall  have  a  change  of  weather," 
said  the  man,  complying  with  the  invitation, 
and  falling  to  with  an  appetite. 

"  That  we  shall,"  said  Joan.     "  The  horni- 


JOHN  AND  JOAN  11 

winks  (peewits)  have  left  the  moor.  They've 
been  going  by  all  morning  in  flocks  like 
sparrows." 

"I  know  it,"  said  John.  "For  I  was 
down  by  Rediver  wood,  and  the  rooks  were 
tumbling  about  as  if  they  didn't  know  their 
heads  from  their  tail-feathers." 

"I  know  it  by  my  whistles,"  observed 
Narracot.  "  They  alter  their  pipe  according 
as  the  weather  is.  When  there  is  rain 
coming  they're  in  a  sort  o'  a  minor  key,  and 
when  the  wind  is  up  in  north  or  east  and 
there'll  be  dryth,  then  they  sing  shrill  as 
larks." 

"There  ought  to  be  a  change,"  said  John. 
"  All  February  we've  had  summer  heat  and 
sunshine,  and  I  reckon  it  ain't  rooks  only  as 
don't  know  their  heads  from  their  tails.  It's 
the  same  wi'  the  seasons  o'  the  year.  They 
be  all  tumbling  about  like  tipsy  creeturs." 

"  I've  been  compoging  poetry  concerning 
you,"  said  Whistle- Jack,  leaning  his  elbows 
on  the  board. 

"  Concerning  me  or  Joan  ? " 

"  Concerning  both.  You've  been  married 
fifty  years,  and  my  poem  says  so.  It  begins — 

'  'Tis  fifty  years,  my  old  wife  Joan, 

Tis  fifty  years  to-day, 
Since  we  was  wed ' " 


12  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

"We  ha'  been  married  fifty  years  next 
Thursday,"  said  John  ;  "  then  Joan  and  me 
will  be  seventy-one  to  a  day." 

"  Will  you  hear  the  poem  now  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  y\  Tisn't  true  yet.  Not  till 
Thursday.  To-day  be  fifty  years  short  by 
three  days,  and  there's  no  saying  what  may 
hap  between  this  and  then.  It'd  be  tempting 
Providence.  But  now,  will  you  be  so  good 
and  read  us  the  letter.  Joan  and  me  be  no 
scholars,  but  us  be  terrible  good  listeners." 

The  letter  was  from  their  married  daugh 
ter,  Martha  Evea ;  and  it  was  as  follows — 

"  DEAR  FATHER  AND  MOTHER  BOTH — 

"Hopping  as  it  will  find  you  as  it 
leaves  me,  bad  in  my  legs  as  swells  up  like 
illifunts.  There  ain't  been  no  washing  done 
this  fortnight,  which  is  bad,  and  ort  to  be. 
I  wish  mother  would  come  and  do  the 
washing  for  me.  If  I  fusses  about  them  legs 
swells,  so  dear  mother  do  come,  hopping  as 
it  finds  you  as  it  leaves  me.  I  hopp  the 
dear  baby  is  well. 

"  Your  loving  dorter, 

"MARTHA." 


JOHN   AND  JOAN  13 


III 


"  WHATEVER  is  to  be  done  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  I  must  go  at  once.  It's  two  weeks' 
washing." 

"I'd  put  it  off/'  advised  Whistle- Jack. 
"There  may  be  a  change  o'  weather,  and 
it's  seventeen  miles  to  the  Eveas'." 

"  It's  eight  across  the  moors,"  answered 
Joan. 

"Aye,  but  I  wouldn't  chance  it  wi'  a 
change  coming  on." 

"  There'll  be  no  change  afore  midnight. 
And  it's  two  weeks'  washing." 

"  I  can't  be  sure  when  the  change  will  be," 
observed  Narracot.  "Them  pipes  be 
squealin'  like  little  pigs  when  you've  nipped 
their  tails." 

"You  said  yourself  they  squealed  for  a 
north  or  east  wind,  and  with  north  or  east 
wind  we  get  dry  weather." 

"  That's  true ;  but  there's  a  queer  change 
coming.  They  squeals  wonderful  irreg'lar. 
Will  you  hear  them  ?  " 

"No,  thank  y'.  It  would  wake  the 
baby." 


I4  DARTMOOR  IDYLLS 

"  I'll  buy  one  of  them  whistles/'  said 
John.  "  Here's  a  penny." 

"  Will  you  ? "  said  Joan,  and  she  snatched 
the  purchase  out  of  her  husband's  hand. 
"  Not  if  I  can  help  it.  Anyhow  you  sha'n't 
keep  the  whistle.  I'm  off  to  Martha. 
Whilst  I'm  away  you  must  mind  the  baby, 
and  pretty  noise  you'd  be  making,  John, 
with  the  whistle  !  scaring  the  poor  mite  out 
of  his  senses.  I'd  come  back  to  find  him  a 
raving  idjot." 

Joan  put  the  whistle  into  her  pocket. 

"It's  safest  there,''  she  said;  "and  so  I 
shall  be  easy  in  mind  that  John  bain't  play 
ing  no  anticks  on  it." 

"But  you're  not  going  now  to  the 
Eveas'  ? "  asked  Narracot. 

"Yes,  I  be,"  replied  Joan.  "When  a 
daughter  calls — and  has  a  fortnight's  wash 
ing — a  mother  answers." 

"  It's  a  rough  road  over  the  moor." 

"  It's  no  road  at  all,  but  so  long  as  there's 
daylight  I  can  find  my  way.  The  moors  be 
middling  dry.  The  bogs  are  shrumped  up. 
The  rivers  without  water.  If  I  start  at  once, 
I  shall  be  at  Martha's  by  nightfall,  and 
begin  the  washing  early  to-morrow." 

"  I  don't  half  like  it,"  said  John.  «  It's 
dangerous  in  the  Cleave." 


JOHN  AND  JOAN  15 

"Pshaw!"  said  Joan.  "I  know  the 
Cleave.  I  have  a  foot  as  firm  as  yours, 
John,  and  a  head  as  cool  and  an  eye  as 
clear.  Was  we  not  born  the  same  day  and 
inocculated  together  ? " 

"  I'll  come  with  you." 

"  You  can't.  You  must  attend  to  the 
baby." 

"  I  dare  say  Whistle- Jack  would  do  that." 

" Whistle- Jack,"  said  the  wife,  "he  ain't 
competent.  He's  never  been  a  married  man 
nor  a  nussin'  father." 

"  If  you  will  go,"  said  John,  "  then  take 
one  of  our  cured  hams  for  Martha,  and  a 
bottle  of  our  own  metheglin.  The  metheglin 
is  strong  as  brandy  four  years  old,  and  sweet 
as  the  furze- bloom  from  which  the  bees  draw 
their  honey.  Martha  '11  come  round,  and 
the  swellin'  go  down  in  her  legs,  on  our  ham 
and  metheglin." 

"  I'll  do  that,  but  it's  a  good  deal  to  carry." 

"  It  will  be  worth  it,"  said  John,  "  and  I 
dare  say  Whistle-Jack  will  carry  'em  part 
way." 

"  I'd  rather  carry  it  myself  and  go  my  own 
way.  Jack's  a  bit  of  a  cripple.  I'm  lusty 
and  strong,  though  Thursday  I  be  seventy- 
one,  I  feel  like  a  girl  o'  sixteen." 

"  And  you'll  be  back  on  Thursday  ?  " 


1 6  DARTMOOR  IDYLLS 

"I'll  be  sure  to  be  that,  even  if  I  have  to 
go  again." 

"  Yes/'  said  Narracot,  "  you'll  mind  to  be 
home,  for  I  shall  come  again  on  Thursday, 
and  recite  to  you  that  poem  o'  mine  I  have 
compoged  on  your  fifty  years  of  married  life. 
It  begins — 

*  'Tis  fifty  years,  my  old  wife  Joan, 
'Tis  fifty  years  to-day.'  " 

"  I'll  hear  it  on  Thursday.  I've  no  time 
for  it  now,  if  I'm  to  be  at  the  Eveas'  by 
nightfall." 

Then  the  old  woman  began  to  make  pre 
parations  for  departure.  She  wrapped  in  a 
bundle  certain  garments,  also  simples  for 
Martha's  legs,  to  reduce  swelling,  the  ham, 
and  the  bottle  of  metheglin,  than  which  no 
cordial  made  by  Carthusians  in  the  Dauphine 
Alps  could  be  more  effective.  Next  she 
summoned  her  husband  to  consultation  over 
the  baby's  cradle. 

"Now  mind,"  said  Joan,  "I  trust  Fred 
erick  Augustus  to  you.  If  harm  comes  on 
him,  I'll  never  kiss  you  again." 

"You  don't  think  you  could  carry  him 
along  with  you?"  suggested  the  old  man. 
"  You  see,  the  minding  o'  babies  don't  come 
so  nat'ral  to  men  as  it  does  to  females." 


JOHN  AND  JOAN  17 

"  See  how  selfish  these  men  are ! "  ex 
claimed  Joan,  appealing  to  the  whistle-man. 
"  As  if  it  were  not  enough  to  have  to  carry  a 
ham  and  a  bottle  o'  metheglin,  but  he  wants 
me  to  take  the  baby  as  well,  so  as  to  leave  him 
to  get  into  mischief,  having  nothing  to  do." 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  said  John,  humbly, 
"  but  it  don't  come  nat'ral." 

"  If  I  leave  the  baby  with  you,"  said  the 
old  woman,  "  you  must  learn  how  to  feed  it. 
First  of  all,  mind  this :  two  parts  water  and 
one  milk." 

"Yes,"  said  John,  tapping  his  forehead. 
"  But  it  seems  more  reasonable  two  parts 
milk  and  one  water.  Then  he  needn't  take 
in  such  a  terrible  lot — but  I  reckon  it 
prolongs  enjiment." 

"You  must  not  think,  you  must  obey," 
said  Joan.  "  You'd  derange  the  baby  with 
two  of  milk.  Mind  this :  one  part  milk, 
and  the  bottle  must  be  scalded  out  twice 
a  day." 

"Why  scalded?" 

"To  keep  the  bottle  sweet.  And  if  the 
indian-rubber  tube  happen  to  choke,  you 
must  blow  through  it  and  clean  it  with  a 
straw." 

"Yes;  but  how'm  I  to  know  if  it's 
choked  ? " 


i8  DARTMOOR  IDYLLS 

"You  must  look  at  the  bottle  when 
Frederick  Augustus  is  sacking,  and  you'll 
see  by  the  commotion  within.  If  the  liquid 
be  still — it's  choked.  Then  he  must  be  fed 
four  times  in  the  night  with  a  spoon. 
You're  such  a  gashly  hard  sleeper,  John  !  " 

"  I  fear  I  be  ;  but  he'll  make  me  wake  up, 
I  reckon — he  roars  like  a  bull  o'  Bashan." 

"And  if  he  has  stomach-ache  you'll  re 
member  to  give  him  dill-water." 

"  But  how'm  I  to  know  if  he's  got  stomach 
ache?" 

"  By  the  way  he  draws  up  his  little  knees 
and  feet." 

a  Yes,  I'll  mind  that.  When  he  draws  up 
his  little  knees  and  feet  I'll  give  him  dill- 
water." 

"  And  if  he's  fractious,  you'll  sing  to  him  ; 
but  none  of  your  Rory-Tory  tunes." 

«  No— I'll  try  not." 

"  Sing  something  soothing — a  hymn  or  a 
lullabye, 

*  My  baby  clings  as  close  to  me 
As  doth  the  bark  unto  the  tree.' " 

"  Til  try  what  I  can,"  said  John  dubiously. 
"  And  if  he  is  after  teeth,  you  rub  his  gums." 
"Yes,  I'll  rub  his  gums.     But  how'm  I 
to  know  he  is  after  teeth  ? " 


JOHN  AND  JOAN  19 

"  By  his  dribbling,  of  course," 
"By  his  dribbling?     I  understand." 
"  Rub  with  your   little  finger  dipped  in 
the  mixture,  which  is  saffron  and  alum  and 
honey.      Don't    use    your    other    fingers, 
John :  they  are   like   horn,  and  you'd  take 
the  skin  off  his  blessed  gums." 

"Yes,  I'll  mind,"  said  John,  and  he 
tapped  his  forehead.  "  There's  two  parts 
water  and  one  milk.  There's  scalding  out 
the  bottle.  There's  cleaning  the  tube. 
There's  dill-water  when  he  draws  up  his 
knees  and  feet  There's  no  Rory-Tory 
tunes,  and  feeding  him  four  times  in  the 
night  with  a  spoon.  And  there's  rubbing 
his  gums  with  the  mixture.  That's  just 
seven  things,  like  the  seven  days  in  the 
week,  and  the  seven  stars  in  the  firmament. 
I'll  mind  'em  all.  These  be,  I  reckon,  the 
seven  great  maxims  and  golden  laws  o' 
nussin'.  Give  my  love  to  Martha,  and  I 
hope  she'll  relish  the  ham  and  the  metheglin, 
and  the  swellin'  '11  go  down.  Mind,  old 
woman,  you  be  back  by  Thursday,  which  is 
our  fiftieth  anniversary  and  jubilee." 


20  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 


IV 


JOAN  had  been  gone  somewhat  over  half- 
an-hour,  and  John  had  the  baby  out  of  the 
cradle,  and  was  blowing  through  the  tube, 
and  converting  the  milk  in  the  bottle  into  a 
foam  of  bubbles  great  and  small,  so  as  to 
assure  himself  that  the  passage  was  free, 
when  a  rush  of  wind  swept  past  the  house  so 
suddenly  that  John  dropped  the  bottle,  and 
it  would  have  been  broken  had  it  fallen  on 
the  floor  and  not  into  the  cradle.  The  first 
rush  was  succeeded  by  stillness  for  a  minute, 
and  then  the  wind  came  down  with  a  roar 
that  was  deafening,  and  with  a  violence  that 
filled  the  room  with  smoke  and  flame  from 
the  hearth  and  chimney. 

"  My  crikums !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man. 
"  Whatever  will  Joan  do  ?  " 

He  took  the  feeding-bottle  out  of  the 
crib,  replaced  the  infant,  and  went  to  the 
door. 

A  change  had  come  over  the  sky.  The 
moor  rose  as  a  wall  to  the  east ;  and  above 
it  dense  masses  of  vapour  curled  like  waves 


JOHN  AND  JOAN  21 

over  a  reef.  The  sky  in  that  quarter  was 
black  as  ink,  solid  as  lead.  A  single  plover, 
the  underwings  white  against  the  gloomy 
cloud,  was  flying  west  as  though  life 
depended  on  its  speed.  Frightened  sheep 
had  taken  refuge  under  the  walls  on  the  lee 
side,  round  the  little  farm,  and  cowered 
there  motionless,  forgetting  even  to  eat. 
Then  the  snow  began  to  fall,  in  large  fleeces 
at  first,  sailing  before  the  wind  with  a 
certain  leisureliness.  Next  they  drove  in 
smaller  flakes,  and  in  white  parallel  lines. 
Then  all  at  once  the  whole  atmosphere  was 
converted  into  a  boil  of  white  particles, 
spinning,  tossing  in  every  possible  direction, 
and  nothing  was  visible  beyond  a  couple  of 
yards  from  the  door,  not  even  the  shed 
opposite. 

The  babe  began  to  scream.  John  was 
constrained  to  leave  the  door,  and  run  back 
to  it. 

"  Whatever  is  to  be  done  ?  "  he  asked,  as 
his  heart  quivered  with  fear.  "There's  my 
dear  old  woman  on  the  moor,  and  here's  this 
blessed  baby  in  the  house.  I  can't  go  after 
her.  I  can't  leave  him.  I  am  drawn  this 
way,  I  am  pulled  that.  I  wish  to  Heaven 
Whistle- Jack  had  remained." 

He  dipped  his  little  finger  in  the  mixture 


22  DARTMOOR  IDYLLS 

of  alum,  saffron,  and  honey,  and  rubbed  the 
babe's  gums  with  it,  whilst  his  eyes  were  on 
the  window,  and  watched  the  swirl  of  snow- 
dust  through  it. 

"  However  will  my  Joan  find  her  way  ?  " 
he  groaned. 

The  window-panes  became  plastered,  and 
by  degrees,  the  light  obscured,  it  was  as 
though  whitewash  were  being  laid  over  the 
glass,  coat  on  coat. 

"  What  is  it  now  ?  "  asked  the  old  man, 
as  the  child  went  into  a  paroxysm  of 
screams.  "  Is  it  stomick  ?  Ah — them  little 
legs  is  drawed  up.  Do  be  still  whilst  I  go 
after  the  dill-water.  Lor* !  how  selfish  these 
babies  be  ;  they  don't  think  of  nothing  but 
themselves,  and  there's  my  Joan  out  on  the 
moor  and  I  don't  know  whereabout  she  be 
and  what  she's  doing/' 

The  snow  was  heaping  itself  on  the  thres 
hold,  it  was  piling  on  the  window-ledges ; 
it  was  settling  down  behind  hedges,  over 
which  it  blew  like  sea-foam.  It  massed 
itself  on  thorn-bushes,  then  fell  off  in  white 
avalanches.  It  accumulated  on  roofs  till 
its  weight  forced  it  to  slide  down  and  thud 
upon  the  soil,  and  make  room  for  fresh 
accumulations.  It  beat  into  John's  face, 
and  blinded  him  when  he  opened  the  door. 


JOHN  AND  JOAN  23 

and  fell  in  over  the  threshold  and  bespattered 
the  floor.  The  wind  drove  so  hard  into  his 
mouth  that  he  turned  gasping,  as  though  he 
had  been  under  water. 

"  Whatever  has  become  of  Joan  ?  "  he 
exclaimed,  with  a  gulp  and  sob.  "  I  cannot 
leave  her  on  the  moors  in  this  storm.  She'll 
never  make  her  way  to  the  Eveas'  in  the 
teeth  of  the  wind  and  the  drive  of  the  snow. 
I'll  get  my  hat  and  stick  and  go  seek  her." 

Then  the  babe  began  to  cry. 

"  What  is  it  now — gums  or  gripe  ?  or  is 
it  bottle  you  want?  I  cannot  leave  you 
alone  in  the  cottage,  and  I  cannot  let  Joan 
lose  herself  on  the  moor  ?  Whatever  shall 
I  do?  I'm  torn  in  shreds  like  a  ragged 
robin.  Come  now,  I'll  sing  y'  to  sleep,  and 
then  I  can  go  out  and  seek  Joan  high  and 
low." 

The  old  man  took  the  child  in  his  arms, 
and  seating  himself  on  a  chair,  proceeded 
to  swing  himself  vigorously,  bawling  in  a 
cracked  voice — 

"Three  jolly  boys  are  we, 
Ri-too-ral-loo.     Ri-too-ral-lido." 

The  child  continued  crying. 

"  O  crikums  !  "  exclaimed  John,  "  my 
Joan  said  I  wasn't  to  sing  no  Rory-Tory 
tunes,  but  only  psalms  and  spirituous  songs. 


24  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

Dratted  if  I  can  remember  any  now.  Let's 
have  a  look  if  his  knees  and  toes  be  drawed 
up.  If  so,  it's  stomick.  Let's  look  at  his 
little  chin.  If  that's  running  over,  it's  teeth 
he's  after.  Lor'  !  I  wish  I'd  got  that  whistle 
I  paid  a  penny  for.  Joan  may  say  what 
she  likes,  but  in  such  a  howling  wind  the 
whistle  would  be  most  suitable,  and  nothing 
else  could  be  heard  as  would  send  Frederick 
Augustus  to  sleep.  But  Joan  put  the 
whistle  in  her  pocket  and  took  it  away. 
O  dear !  O  dear !  I  wish  I  knowed  two 
things  :  one  where  my  Joan  is,  and  t'other, 
how  to  pacify  the  baby." 

After  having  swung  his  body  to  and  fro 
like  a  pendulum  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
without  results  adequate  to  the  muscular 
effort,  John  put  the  child  into  the  cradle, 
and  applying  his  foot  to  the  rocker,  made 
the  crib  roll  like  the  packet  between  Dover 
and  Calais,  for  a  second  quarter  of  an  hour. 
All  the  while  his  mind  was  in  a  tumult  of 
concern  for  his  wife,  and  in  perplexity  as  to 
what  was  to  be  done  for  her.  The  child 
seemed  to  share  in  his  distress.  It  would 
not  be  comforted. 

"  I  believe  it's  just  this/'  said  the  old  man, 
looking  distractedly  at  the  crying  babe. 
"  Frederick  Augustus  is  stuffed  in  his  head, 


JOHN   AND  JOAN  25 

and  can't  breathe  thro'  his  nose;  that 
troubles  him.  I'll  rub  his  nose  up  and 
down  wi'  a  warm  tallow  candle,  and  'twill 
ease  him  wonderful.  And  if  it's  on  the 
chest,  then  there's  somewhere  the  fellow  of 
the  sheet  of  brown  paper  as  wrapped  up  the 
ham.  I'll  just  drip  mutton  fat  over  it,  and 
cut  a  couple  of  holes  for  the  baby's  arms,  and 
wrap  it  round  his  back  and  chest.  There 
ain't  the  equal  to  tallow  and  brown  paper  for 
a  plaster.  It  beats  embrocation.  Lawk ! " 
exclaimed  John  in  sudden  terror,  "  I  wonder 
whether  I  gave  the  creetur  saffron  and  alum 
instead  o'  dill-water.  I'm  that  muddled  in 
my  head  I  can't  think  what  I'm  about. 
But  if  I  did,  then  for  certain  there'll  be 
terrible  trouble  in  his  insides,  but  the 
wind  be  that  roaring  about  the  roof  and 
whistling  at  the  door,  and  screaming  in  at 
the  chimly-tops,  I  can't  hear  if  I  listen.  I 
do  wish  it  'ud  calm  down  about.  I  can't 
hear  nothing  distinct  as  to  what's  going  on 
in  his  insides.  O  dear!  what  will  Joan  say 
if  I  have?  I  must  look  at  his  poor  little 
legs  again  and  see  if  they  be  drawed  up.  If 
they  be,  then  for  sure  he's  swallowed  the 
alum,  and  I've  rubbed  his  gums  wi'  dill- 
water." 

However,  to  John's  relief,  the  child  fell 


26  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

asleep.  Then  the  old  man  leaned  his  elbow 
on  his  knee,  and  fell  into  dream,  looking 
down  on  the  cradle.  That  was  the  cradle 
in  which  he  had  lain  as  a  child.  There  he 
had  sobbed  and  laughed  in  his  infantile 
sorrows  and  joys.  In  that  cradle  his  Martha 
had  lain — the  child  that  had  made  him  and 
Joan  to  be  parents  "simultaneous,"  as  the 
headstone  stated.  Now  the  third  genera 
tion  occupied  it. 

"  O  crikums ! "  groaned  the  man,  raising 
his  head  at  a  fresh  burst  of  wind  that  raved 
over  and  around  the  house.  "Whatever 
can  have  become  of  my  old  woman  ?  She 
can  never  have  reached  beyond  the  Cleave. 
And  if  the  snow  came  on  when  she  was 

there "     He  got  up  and  walked  to  and 

fro  in  the  room,  and  a  choke  came  in  his 
voice.  The  babe  in  the  cradle  sobbed  in 
sleep,  as  in  sympathy.  "We  was  so  lovely 
and  pleasant  in  our  lives — and  if  aught 
happens  to  she — and  in  death  we  was  to  be 
divided — it  'ud  spoil  the  whole  cooriousness 
of  our  story.  There's  the  baby  at  it  again." 


JOHN   AND   JOAN  27 


THE  night  set  in  early  without  any 
cessation  of  storm.  Throughout  the  hours 
of  darkness  the  wind  blew  and  the  snow  fell. 

John  had  milked  the  cow  and  had  given 
her  hay.  He  had  brought  in  turf  and  sticks 
for  the  hearth.  He  had  listened  in  the  hopes 
of  hearing  his  wife's  voice,  and  in  imagination 
had  believed  momentarily  that  it  was  borne 
to  him  on  the  wind.  He  went  out  in  the 
night  as  far  as  he  dared  go,  but  was  com 
pelled  to  return  lest  he  should  lose  his  direc 
tion  and  be  unable  to  find  his  way  back. 
Not  a  wink  of  sleep  did  John  have  that 
night.  He  did  not  attempt  to  undress  and 
go  to  bed.  He  sat  by  the  fire  or  wandered 
restlessly  about  the  house.  He  asked  him 
self  a  thousand  times  whether  it  was  possible 
that  his  wife  could  have  battled  her  way 
through  to  the  Eveas'  cottage,  and,  though 
he  hoped  against  hope,  he  was  obliged  to 
allow  that  this  was  hardly  possible.  Then 
where  was  she?  There  was  no  habitation 
on  the  moors  between  his  little  farm  and  that 


28  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

of  the  Eveas.  There  was  not  a  cattle-shed, 
not  a  hedge,  not  a  tree — no  shelter  of  any 
sort  save  that  afforded  by  granite  tors. 

If  Joan  had  seen  the  storm  coming  on 
when  she  reached  the  top  of  the  range,  why 
had  she  not  retraced  her  steps  ?  What  could 
have  induced  her  to  push  on  when  that  wall 
of  blackness  stood  up  before  her  eyes.  "  I 
know,"  said  John :  "  it  was  that  darned  fort 
night's  washing.  She'd  walk  into  a  cannon's 
mouth,  into  the  very  jaws  of  hell,  rather 
than  let  things  go  dirty  a  third  week." 

If  Joan  had  gone  on,  had  she  stumbled  in 
the  snow — sunk  in  ?  and  did  she  now  lie 
under  it  ?  Tears  trickled  down  the  old  man's 
cheeks.  He  drew  his  stool  over  to  the 
headstone  and  passed  his  finger  along  each 
line  of  the  inscription.  What  each  letter 
signified  he  did  not  know,  but  he  was  well 
acquainted  with  what  each  group  of  symbols 
signified. 

The  day  dawned.  John  had  hoped  that 
with  light  cessation  of  storm  would  have 
come.  But  there  was  none.  He  trusted 
that  at  noon  the  wind  would  abate  and  the 
fall  of  snow  cease.  There  was  no  sensible 
abatement.  Surely  there  would  be  calm 
and  clear  weather  at  sunset.  That  hope 
also  proved  vain.  In  dismay  he  saw  how 


JOHN  AND  JOAN  29 

that  the  snow  was  accumulating  to  a  con 
siderable  height.  The  night  closed  in — a 
night  in  all  particulars  like  that  which  pre 
ceded  it.  John  was  as  little  inclined  for  bed 
as  the  night  before. 

The  child  was  restless.     John  went  to  it. 

"Joan  said  I  was  to  feed  him  four  times 
in  the  night ;  but  how  can  one  keep  count 
when  thus  wurreted  wi'  maddening  thoughts 
and  dreadful  fears  ?  I  reckon  it's  more  like 
a  hundred  and  forty-four  times  I've  spoon 
fed  him.  Then  there's  the  bottle  comes 
intermediate.  Coming,  coming,  my  'an- 
some ! " 

And  John  ran  to  the  cradle. 

When  the  child  lay  still  in  sleep  John's 
terrors  were  increased.  He  thought  it  was 
in  a  fit.  He  feared  it  was  dying,  and  he 
roused  it  that  he  might  satisfy  himself  that 
his  doubt  and  alarm  were  vain. 

"  My  goodness !  O  crikums !  "  exclaimed 
the  old  fellow.  "  I  seem  to  be  never  endin' 
fillin'  the  bottle  and  making  spoon-food.  I 
do  believe  that  Frederick  Augustus  has  had 
as  much  as  would  fill  the  boiler.  I'll  just 
weigh  the  one  against  the  other ;  and  there's 
a  bushel  o'  potatoes,  bacon,  and  turnips  in 
the  boiler." 

He  removed  the  iron  cauldron  from  the 


30  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

crook  with  one  hand,  and  raised  the  child 
from  the  cradle  with  the  other,  and  gave  a 
sigh  of  relief. 

"Frederick  Augustus  is  a  tiny  bit  the 
lighter  of  the  two/'  he  said.  "  I  shouldn't 
ha7  thought  it." 

During  the  forenoon  of  Wednesday,  the 
nth,  the  violence  of  the  wind  abated,  and 
for  a  while  the  snow  ceased.  The  sky  was 
overcast — it  seemed  compacted  of  grey  wool. 
John  Noble,  standing  at  his  door,  looked 
east,  and  saw  the  moor  white  as  a  sheet 
half-way  up  the  heavens.  Every  bush  was 
covered,  every  rock  buried,  saving  only  at 
the  edge  of  the  crest,  where  the  crags  were 
too  precipitous  for  snow  to  lodge  upon 
them.  Where  could  Joan  be  ?  What  had 
befallen  her?  With  maddening  iteration 
the  same  thoughts  and  queries  rose  in  his 
mind.  Oh  that  some  one  would  come  to 
him  from  the  nearest  farm  who  for  a  while 
would  take  charge  of  the  child  whilst  he  went 
in  search  of  his  wife ! 

"  If  I  could  get  rid  o'  that  creetur  in  there," 
said  John,  pointing  with  his  thumb  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  cradle,  "I'd  walk  till  I  found 
her  or  dropped.  I  daren't  take  the  baby 
out  in  this  bitter  cold  and  rough  weather, 
choked  in  the  head  as  he  be  in  spite  of  all 


JOHN   AND  JOAN  31 

the  tallering  I  gave  his  nose.  Yaw !  "  He 
turned  his  head  towards  the  sleeping  child. 
"  You  may  call  yourself  Frederick  Augustus, 
but  I  say  you're  a  spotted  toad,  and  a 
nuisance.  If  you  weren't  my  own  grand 
child  I'd  leave  you,  and  go  forth  and  look 
for  Joan." 

He  went  to  the  crib,  took  the  babe  out, 
and  danced  it  on  his  knee,  singing  in 
dolorous  tones — 

"  There  were  three  drunken  maidens 

Came  from  the  Isle  of  Wight. 
They  drank  from  Monday  morning, 
They  drank  till  Saturday  night." 

Then  he  stopped,  for  the  "  tick-tack,  tick- 
tack  "  of  the  clock  had  suddenly  ceased. 

What  was  the  signification  of  the  clock 
stopping  ? 

It  had  not  intermitted  its  ticking  since 
he  and  Joan  had  occupied  that  house. 

He  went  to  the  clock-case  with  a  dread  of 
ill-omen  on  his  heart,  and  there  found  that 
the  clock  had  stopped  because  the  weight 
had  run  down — it  had  run  down  because 
not  wound  up  as  usual  by  Joan  on  Monday 
evening.  Joan's  mind  followed  his  wife  on 
the  way  she  had  taken  on  the  afternoon 
she  left  him.  She  had  gone  due  east,  with 
Hare  Tor  before  her,  and  had  bent  to  the 


32  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

left  to  avoid  the  "  Old  Men's  Washings,"  a 
gully  where,  in  ancient  times,  tinners  had 
streamed  for  metal.  She  would,  after  a 
while,  have  reached  the  "  leat,"  a  stream  of 
water  conveyed  for  many  miles  along  the 
hill-sides  to  supply  a  distant  mine.  An 
upright  granite  block  indicated  the  spot 
where  slabs  had  been  cast  across  the  stream 
to  serve  as  a  bridge  for  men  and  cattle. 
Joan  assuredly  had  gone  further  than  that. 
Had  she  crossed  the  neck  between  Hare 
Tor  and  Ger  Tor  ?  If  so,  then  she  would 
strike  over  open  down  unencumbered  with 
rocks  till  she  reached  the  Cleave,  down 
which  roared  and  foamed  the  river  Tavy. 
There  it  was  that  most  of  the  danger  lay. 
The  descent  was  precipitous,  among  rocks 
tossed  in  confusion  from  the  heights,  their 
interstices  at  all  time  concealed  by  heather 
and  whortleberry  bushes.  Supposing  she 
had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  ravine 
she  would  have  to  cross  the  river  on  the 
stepping-stones.  Could  she  have  done  that 
before  the  storm  came  on  ?  Could  she 
have  discovered  the  stepping-stones  in  the 
blinding  snow?  If  she  found  them,  could 
she  have  crossed  the  raging  torrent  on  them 
without  slipping  and  being  swept  away  ? 
And  even  supposing  she  had  reached  the 


JOHN  AND  JOAN  33 

further  bank,  then  her  difficulties  would  not 
have  been  at  an  end,  her  peril  would  have 
become  the  greater,  for  beyond  was  open 
moor,  with  hardly  a  landmark,  only  to  be 
traversed  by  such  as  were  intimately  ac 
quainted  with  the  way,  and  by  them  only 
in  clear  daylight,  and  when  the  direction 
was  unmistakable.  If  she  had  gone  from 
her  course  there,  God  help  her!  even  her 
body  might  never  be  found  in  that  vast, 
trackless  desert,  where  even  animal,  bird, 
and  insect  life  fails.  With  these  thoughts 
John  tortured  himself  all  the  afternoon,  and 
could  find  no  rest. 

All  at  once  the  door  of  the  house  opened, 
and  in  blew  a  cloud  of  snow-dust.  The 
storm  had  arisen  again,  and  this  time,  after 
a  lull  of  twelve  hours,  with  redoubled  fury. 
The  house  reeled  under  the  weight  of  the 
blast  that  blew  the  snow  from  the  thatch 
like  a  cloud  of  steam.  On  the  former  days 
flakes  had  fallen,  sometimes  large,  at  others 
small.  Now  an  impalpable  powder  of  snow, 
minute  as  finest  wheat-flour,  was  impelled 
before  a  wind  that  had  the  force  and  fury  of 
a  torrent. 

"  It's  the  end  o'  the  world  comin',"  said 
John,  "and  but  for  Frederick  Augustus, 
who  ain't  yet  seen  a  menagerie,  I'd  be  glad 


34  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

if  it  were  so,  for  then  Joan  and  me  'ud  not 
run  risk  o'  being  divided." 

That  was  the  night  of  the  great  blizzard 
in  the  West  of  England,  a  night  never  to  be 
forgotten  by  such  as  passed  through  it;  a 
night  that  saw  forests  of  oaks  laid  low,  torn 
up  by  the  roots  on  which  they  had  stood 
for  three  hundred  years,  pines  twisted  and 
their  heads  wrenched  off,  houses  buried  to 
their  chimney- tops,  roofs  blown  away,  roads 
obliterated.  That  was  the  night  to  which 
the  two  previous  nights  had  been  but  a 
preparation  and  a  prelude. 


VI 


ON  the  morning  of  Thursday  the  I2th 
the  wind  subsided  as  suddenly  as  it  had 
risen ;  and  when  the  sun  rose  it  was  in  a 
cloudless  sky.  Not  a  breath  of  wind  stirred, 
and  the  air  was  warm  as  on  a  summer  day, 
yet  the  aspect  of  the  country  was  polar. 

The  condition  of  the  snow  had  been 
completely  changed  by  the  final  gale.  On 
Tuesday  and  on  Wednesday  the  entire 


JOHN  AND  JOAN  35 

surface  of  the  land  had  been  covered  with 
an  all-enveloping  white  mantle,  but  the 
subsequent  hurricane  had  swept  the  hills  as 
with  a  besom,  and  had  swept  the  snow  into 
every  valley,  hollow,  and  corner.  Roads 
were  choked  level  with  the  hedgerows,  the 
rocks  that  had  fronted  the  storm  had 
inclined  planes  of  snow  from  behind  to  their 
summits.  Houses  that  lay  athwart  the  blast 
were  in  like  manner  buried  to  their  roof 
tops  on  the  lee  side,  whereas  every  particle 
of  snow  was  brushed  from  before  and  from 
behind  such  houses  as  stood  parallel  with 
the  path  of  the  wind.  The  face  of  the 
country  was  mottled.  Here  it  was  clear, 
there  covered  with  drifts — and  such  drifts! 
the  snow,  moreover,  was  so  soft  that  to 
traverse  it  was  impossible.  Men  sank  in  it  as 
in  egg-flummery.  It  had  to  be  cut  through, 
it  could  not  be  walked  over.  Progress  from 
place  to  place  was  accomplished  solely  by 
circumventing  the  vast  accumulations. 

John  was  standing  in  his  doorway  as  the 
sun  rose  over  the  serrated  ridge,  and  his 
eyes  were  dazzled  at  the  brilliance  with 
which  its  rays  illumined  the  snow-fields 
around.  Then  he  heard  voices,  and  in 
another  moment  Whistle- Jack  and  three 
farm  labourers  from  the  nearest  settlement 


36  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

stood  before  him ;  he  knew  them  all :  they 
were  Philip  Lang,  Matthew  Grossman,  and 
Tom  Down. 

"  I  have  come,"  said  Narracot ;  "I  thought 
it  my  duty,  as  I  sent  her  off  wi'  the  news 
in  that  letter.  I  was  terrible  anxious  all 
through  the  storm,  but  till  to-day  I  couldn't 
get  out  to  you.  Is  Joan  returned  ? " 
"  Joan  returned  ?  No  !  " 
"And  she  has  never  got  to  the  Eveas*. 
I've  seed  a  man  as  was  caught  by  the  storm 
when  coming  over  the  moor  on  the  road, 
and  he  stayed  at  Evea's,  Monday  and 
Tuesday  night.  He  managed  somehow  to 
get  along  Wednesday,  but  was  nigh  spent 
by  doing  it." 

"  And  Joan  ?  " — the  old  man  trembled. 
"She   had  not   arrived.     I    hoped  she'd 
managed  to  get  back  to  you/' 

"  My  wife !  my  wife ! "  cried  the  old 
man.  Then,  running  into  the  cottage,  he 
wrapped  the  baby  in  a  blanket,  knotted  the 
blanket  and  looped  it  over  his  neck,  and 
brought  the  child  out.  "  Come,  Frederick 
Augustus ! "  said  he,  "  we  must  go  and 
look  for  your  grandmother.  God  cannot 
have  forsaken  her !  God  cannot  have 
forgotten  me !  "  The  child  was  frightened 
at  the  sight  of  so  many  strange  faces,  and 


JOHN  AND   JOAN  37 

sobbed  incessantly.  But  the  old  man  dis 
regarded  its  terrors,  and  insisted  on  going 
forth  over  the  moor  in  quest  of  his  lost  Joan, 
and  in  carrying  the  child  whilst  doing  so. 

The  party  ascended  the  slope,  picking  its 
way  slowly  along,  winding  in  and  out  among 
the  sheets  of  treacherous  snow  that  covered 
old  mine-pits  or  concealed  the  chasms  be 
tween  blocks  of  granite.  John  knew  every 
inch  of  the  way,  disguised,  transformed 
though  it  was.  He  saw  the  granite  post, 
standing,  like  Lot's  wife,  a  pillar,  not  indeed 
of  salt,  but  of  snow,  that  indicated  the 
passage  of  the  "leat."  The  watercourse 
was  arched  over  with  snow,  the  stream  was 
invisible,  and  but  for  the  upright  stone  the 
party  might  have  missed  the  bridge  and 
floundered  into  the  water. 

"  Mind  where  you  go ! "  said  John. 
"That  great  rock  there — we  call  it  the 
Frog ;  but  it  doesn't  look  like  a  frog  now, 
so  buried  is  it  in  snow.  That  must  be  kept 
to  the  left.  There's  a  quaking  bog  nigh  on 
it  to  be  avoided.  You  can't  see  the  bog  for 
the  snow  that  lies  over  it." 

"  Hark ! "  said  one  of  the  men,  "  what 
bird  is  that  ?  " 

They  heard  a  strange  note. 

"  Is  it  a  crane  ? " 


38  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

"  We  ain't  here  looking  for  birds,  or 
listening  to  their  voices/'  said  John  testily. 
"We  are  hunting  for  my  old  Joan.  The 
Lord  be  merciful  to  her  and  to  me  !  She's 
not  at  the  Eveas',  she's  not  come  home. 
Wherever  can  she  be  ?  " 

"Hark!  I  hear  that  bird  again,"  said 
Whistle-Jack. 

"  It  isn't  a  crane,  I  reckon  it's  a  curlew." 

The  party  pressed  on.  One  man  offered 
to  carry  the  child,  but  John  refused. 

"I'm  given  the  charge  of  Frederick 
Augustus,"  said  he.  "  If  we  come  on  my 
old  woman,  she  won't  be  pleased  to  see  any 
one  carry  him  but  me,  to  whom  the  child 
was  confided." 

After  they  had  left  the  Frog  Rock  a  rifle 
shot  off  on  their  left,  they  came  on  a  dip  in 
the  moor  where  were  rushes  that  had  caught 
the  drifting  snow.  The  soil  was  spongy, 
the  snow  light  as  sea-foam,  and  advance 
was  slow  and  infinitely  laborious.  Then 
suddenly  they  emerged  on  land  swept  clean 
of  snow,  and  here  they  pushed  forward 
lustily. 

In  half-an-hour  the  crest  of  the  moorland 
and  its  serrated  crag  was  passed,  and  the 
course  lay  due  east  over  a  slightly  undulating 
surface  almost  wholly  devoid  of  stones,  and 


JOHN  AND  JOAN  39 

where  no  snow  lay.  Then  suddenly  they 
came  out  on  the  "Cleave,"  a  gorge  three 
hundred  feet  deep,  fringed  with  rocks,  and 
almost  as  precipitous  as  the  walls  of  a  house. 
At  the  bottom  was  wont  to  rush  a  brawling 
river,  and  its  roar  was  usually  audible  from 
the  Cleave  edge.  But  on  this  day  all  was 
silent.  The  chasm  was  choked  with  a  vast 
accumulation  of  snow  as  far  up  as  the  eye 
could  reach,  the  snow  lay  smooth  as  a  sheet, 
and  beyond  it  rose  the  brown  moor.  The 
blizzard  had  brushed  the  uplands  and  had 
flung  its  covering  into  the  ravine,  filling  it 
to  the  height  of  nearly  three  hundred  feet. 
John  stood  up  as  one  stupefied.  He  put  his 
hands  to  his  head,  his  knees  shook  under 
him. 

"The  Lord  has  spread  His  sheet  over 
her "  he  said. 

That  Joan  could  have  crossed  the  ravine 
before  the  snowstorm  came  on  was  not 
possible.  In  it  she  must  have  perished, 
and  over  her  the  Lord  had  heaped  His 
snow ! 

Silent,  with  bowed  head,  and  the  briny 
tears  running  down  his  cheeks,  John  walked 
homeward.  The  child  slept  the  greater  part 
of  the  way.  When  it  awoke,  then  Whistle- 
Jack,  without  a  word,  relieved  him  of  the 


40  DARTMOOR  IDYLLS 

burden,  and  carried  the  babe  in  his  arms  the 
rest  of  the  way.  Old  John  made  no  protest, 
his  head  was  stunned. 

Presently  Whistle- Jack  said,  "  Hush  ! 
There's  that  coorious  note  again.  I  wonder 
what  bird  it  can  be." 

"  Aye,  and  we  hears  it  in  much  the  same 
place.  Whatever  bird  it  be,  her's  piping 
somewhere  about  the  Frog  Rock." 

The  old  man,  stumbling  on  without  eyes 
for  where  he  was  going,  ears  for  aught  said, 
stepped  unawares  into  a  drift  and  sank  to  his 
waist  in  snow.  He  made  no  effort  to  ex 
tricate  himself,  and  it  took  those  who  were 
of  the  search-party  some  time  before  they 
could  draw  him  forth.  He  was  exhausted 
with  his  walk,  with  carrying  the  child,  with 
the  difficulties  of  the  way,  but  most  of  all 
through  the  extinction  in  his  heart  of  the 
hope  that  had  heretofore  stimulated  his 
efforts. 

"I  can't  go  on,"  said  he.  "Leave  me 
here." 

His  knees  shook  and  gave  way  under 
him. 

"Nonsense,  man;  come  along.  You 
have  but  a  couple  of  miles  to  go,  and  you 
are  home." 

"I've  no  home  more — Joan  bean't  there." 


JOHN   AND   JOAN  41 

"  Make    an    attempt,"    said     one     man. 
"  Here,  take  my  stick,  or,  if  you  like,  lean 


on  me." 


John  staggered  forwards,  then  sank  on 
the  ground. 

"It's  no  good  trying,"  said  he.  "I'm 
done  for.  The  Lord  has  buried  her,  so 
leave  Him  to  do  the  same  wi'  me." 

"  There's  that  queer  bird  singing  again," 
said  another  man. 

"It's  the  death-piper,"  said  John.  "I 
reckon  he  cried  seven  times  over  my  Joan 
before  she  fell  asleep  in  the  snow,  and  her 
soul  went  flying  off  in  the  storm.  It's  come 
and  is  calling  me." 

"  Nonsense,  man." 

"  I  hope  it  be,"  said  John,  sinking  together 
in  a  condition  of  mental  and  bodily  collapse. 
"  We  was  lovely  and  pleasant  in  our  lives, 
and  it's  right  as  in  death  we  should  not  be 
divided." 

Whistle-Jack  put  his  hands  under  the 
arms  of  the  old  man  and  endeavoured  to 
raise  him,  but  it  seemed  as  though  the 
power  to  sustain  himself  on  his  feet  had 
gone  from  him. 

"  Tom  Down,  give  him  a  drop  o'  brandy. 
He's  failing/' 

"Tom  Down  is  gone,"  answered  another 


42  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

man.  "  He's  so  tremendious  coorious  about 
that  there  bird  as  be  whistling  at  the  Frog 
Rock,  he's  gone  to  see  what  it  be." 

"And  has  carried  off  the  brandy.  Run 
after  him." 

Then  Whistle-Jack  put  the  sleeping  child 
in  the  old  man's  lap. 

"Look  here,  John,"  said  he,  "you  must 
not  give  up  because  youVe  lost  your  old 
woman.  There's  the  young  one  to  be 
cared  for." 

John  did  not  raise  his  head ;  he  slightly 
shook  it. 

"There's  your  daughter  you  must  con 
sider." 

"  Her's  got  her  husband,  and  I've  lost  my 
old  wife.  I  reckon  if  the  Lord's  took  her 
He'll  be  so  good  as  to  kindly  take  me.  Us 
can  never  get  on  in  this  world  or  the  next 
wi'out  each  other."  He  settled  himself 
deeper  into  the  snow.  "Whatever  '11  Joan 
do  when  her  comes  to  glory  and  finds  I'm 
not  there  ?  It's  no  good  you  talking ;  where 
she  is  there  I  must  be.  Us  never  was  parted, 
and  next  Thursday " 

"  It  is  Thursday  to-day,  John." 

"Well,  to-day  us  be  fifty  years  married. 
I  hope  the  Lord  '11  remember  that,  and  take 
me  at  once." 


JOHN   AND   JOAN  43 

"  We  shall  have  to  carry  him,"  said  Jack. 

"  She'll  be  just  as  lost  in  glory  wi'out  me  as 
I  be  here  on  earth  wi'out  her/'  muttered  the 
old  man.  He  shook  his  head.  He  folded 
his  hands  over  the  baby  in  the  blanket. 
"  She'll  be  wandering  about  among  saints 
and  angels,  and  axing  where  the  dickens  be 
her  old  John.  I  know  she  will.  She'll  be 
in  a  regular  wurrit  till  I  be  there." 

"Let  us  help  you  along,"  said  Whistle- 
Jack.  "  Here,  Mat  Grossman,  lend  an  arm 
and  lift  him." 

"  I  want  nought  but  to  be  left  alone,"  said 
the  old  man.  "You  may  take  the  baby 
and  carry  him  to  the  Eveas',  to  whom  it 
belongs.  I  can't  mind  it  no  longer.  I'm 
going  to  my  Joan." 

"  Where  is  Philip  Lang  ?  "  asked  Jack. 

"  He's  gone  after  Down  to  get  the  brandy 
for  the  old  chap." 

"  I  wants  no  brandy,''  said  John  Noble ; 
"  I  shall  drink  o'  the  Water  o'  Life  along 
wi'  my  Joan  shortly.  All  I  axes  is  to  be 
let  alone." 

What  was  to  be  done  with  the  old  fellow  ? 
Jack  and  Matthew  looked  at  each  other  in 
perplexity.  They  might  insist  on  carrying 
him  the  two  miles  that  intervened,  but  it 
was  clear  he  would  resist.  A  stolid,  obstinate 


44  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

fit  had  come  upon  him.  His  reason  no 
longer  acted.  He  had  lost  all  desire  for  life. 
Though  he  would  not  actively  take  measures 
to  destroy  himself,  he  would,  if  left,  remain 
where  he  was,  lay  his  old  grey  head  in  the 
snow,  fold  his  hands  under  it,  and  compose 
himself  for  the  long  sleep  of  death,  in  perfect 
satisfaction  that  he  was  about  to  rejoin  the 
dear  partner  of  his  life. 

The  two  men  were  aware  that  the  kindest 
thing  they  could  do  to  John  was  to  leave 
him  where  he  was,  to  pass  away  out  of  an 
existence  in  which  was  nothing  that  could 
please  him  ;  yet  they  could  not  in  conscience 
suffer  him  thus  to  die;  they  must  use 
violence,  if  need  be,  to  prolong  the  old 
man's  remnant  of  life. 

"  Now  look  here,  John,"  said  Mat  Cross- 
man.  "  This  ain't  manly  to  give  up  as  you 
be  doin'.  Try  to  pluck  yourself  together, 
hold  up  your  head  and  straighten  your  legs, 
and  come  along  with  us.  We  won't  leave 
you  alone  in  your  cottage ;  and  you're  a 
young  man  yet  and  may  look  out  for  another 
missus.  I  knowed  old  Jonathan  Ball  as  went 
a-courting  when  he  was  past  seventy-eight ; 
he  pulled  on  his  Sunday  coat  and  brushed 
up  his  hair,  and  put  a  sparkle  in  his  eye — 
and  was  quite  a  boy  again." 


JOHN   AND   JOAN  45 

The  inducement  failed  to  rouse  old  John. 

"There's  Jesse  Venner,"  pursued  Mat, 
"  wi'  cheeks  as  red  as  bloom  and  a  languish 
ing  eye.  She's  a  fine  strapping  young 
woman — put  a  yaller  rose  in  your  button 
hole  and  go  a-courting  o'  her.  No  !  Well, 
then,  there's  Lizzy  Penrose.  Her's  got 
money,  they  say — and  that  will  make  you 
rare  comfortable  in  your  old  days." 

"  Get  away  from  me,"  said  John  angrily. 
"  I  don't  want  to  hear  none  o'  your  wicked 
words.  I  want  to  go  to  my  Joan.  Will  y' 
leave  me  now  in  peace  ?  I  wants  to  com- 
poge  my  mind  for  meeting  of  her." 

"  Have  done  wi'  your  drashy  talk  !  "  said 
Whistle- Jack,  turning  with  mock-indignation 
on  Matthew  Grossman.  "  Don't  y'  know 
that  John  Noble  will  never  marry  again  ? 
What  John  wants  ain't  languishing  eyes 
and  rosy  cheeks;  I  know  what  he  wants. 
Get  up,  John,  and  come  wi'  me.  I'll  do  you 
a  rasher  o'  bacon  and  ingeons,  John  ! — 
ingeons  as  smell  the  whole  house,  and  is 
burnt  a  lovely  brown  like  tobacker;  and 
I'll  brew  you  some  cider  posset,  biling 
hot,  with  sugar  and  nutmeg,  and  just  a 
touch  o'  ginger.  I'll  make  y'  sleep  like  a 
baby.  Give  me  your  hand  and  get  up  and 
come  along." 


46  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

But  the  prospect  of  burnt  onions  and 
cider  posset  had  no  charms  for  the  old 
man. 

Then  suddenly  there  rang  in  their  ears, 
shrill  and  loud,  the  same  mysterious  note 
they  had  heard  before.  Mat  and  Jack  looked 
round  in  the  direction  of  the  Frog  Rock, 
and  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"John!"  cried  Whistle  -  Jack,  "man, 
stand  up  and  see  the  loving-kindness  o' 
Heaven." 

The  old  man  obeyed,  staggering  labor 
iously  to  his  feet,  with  the  baby  slung  in  its 
blanket  round  his  neck. 

"  John !  " 

Then  suddenly,  with  a  cry,  "  Joan !  " 

The  old  woman  stood  before  him  as 
hearty  as  when  she  left  his  door. 

"John,  old  man!" 

"  Joan,  old  woman  !  " 

"John !  I've  been  buried  three  days." 

"  Joan !  and  I've  been  nussin'  three 
days." 

"  John,  when  the  storm  came  on  I  took 
shelter  under  the  Frog,  and  the  snow  came 
on  and  buried  me  there.  But  I  had  the 
ham  and  the  metheglin,  and  I  did  famously. 
And  there  was  a  hole  in  the  rock  that  wasn't 
stopped  up  wi'  snow — so  I  knocked  out  the 


JOHN   AND   JOAN  47 

bottom  o'  the  bottle,  and  I  stuck  the  whistle 
you  bought  o'  Jack  in  the  mouth,  and  it 
made  a  tremenjous  row  it  did — like  a  trumpet, 
and  I  stuck  that  through  the  hole,  and 
every  now  and  then  I  blew.  I  thought  I 
might  call  attention." 

"  Shall  we  carry  you  home,  John  ? "  asked 
Philip  Lang. 

"  Lord !  Carry  me !  I'll  lean  on  Joan, 
and  Joan  on  me,  and  we'll  walk  along  right 
enough.  We  was  lovely  and  pleasant  in  our 

lives Go    on,   you   fellows,  and   we'll 

come  along  right  enough  in  the  rear,  and 
carry  the  baby  between  us." 

"  Oh,  John,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  I've 
been  that  worreted  under  the  snow,  thinking 
of  the  fortnight's  washing." 

#  ^  #  *  * 

When  the  party  had  reached  the  cottage, 
thin  rashers  of  ham,  with  onions,  were  quickly 
fried,  two  bottles  of  metheglin  were  pro 
duced  ;  likewise  a  posset  of  cider  was 
brewed,  and  the  whole  party  sat  down  to  be 
merry  and  glad  over  the  deliverance  of 
Joan,  the  recovery  of  John,  the  well-being 
of  Frederick  Augustus,  and  the  commemor 
ation  of  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the 
marriage  of  the  old  couple. 

"  And  now,"  said  Whistle- Jack,  "  maybe 


48  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

you'll  hear  my  song  as  I  compoged  for  this 
very  occasion." 

He  cleared  his  throat,  and  half  said,  half 
sang— 

"  Tis  fifty  years,  my  old  wife  Joan, 

'Tis  fifty  years  to-day, 
Since  we  was  wed — an  age  agone, 

Swift  slips  the  time  away. 
The  bells  did  ring,  the  thrushes  sing, 
Upon  our  wedding-day. 

"  You  was  so  peart  and  purty,  Joan, 

As  wild  rose  you  was  fair, 
The  sun  in  richer  glory  shone 
When  shining  in  your  hair. 
The  sky  was  bright,  ablaze  with  light, 
And  balmy  breathed  the  air." 

"  You  was  so  spruce,  you  was,  man  John, 

No  lad  around  so  neat. 
You  almost  danced  as  you  went  on, 

So  tripping  was  your  feet. 
Your  face  it  shone  just  like  the  sun, 

Your  song  was  blithe  and  sweet." 

"  You  wore  a  gown  as  white  as  snow, 

Wi'  sprigs  of  flowers,  I  mind. 
A  silken  sash,  a  cherry  bow 

Was  tied  your  waist  behind. 
A  ribbon  rare  it  bound  your  hair 

And  fluttered  in  the  wind." 

"  You  wore  a  coat  o'  bottle-green 

And  buttons  burnish' d  brass, 
Your  waistcoat  was  of  velveteen, 

Your  boots  they  shone  as  glass. 
With  such  a  beau  all  maids,  I  trow, 

Thought  me  a  lucky  lass." 


JOHN   AND   JOAN  49 

"  We  now  be  grown  so  old  and  weak, 

Our  time  is  short  below, 
And  when  it  please  the  Lord  to  speak, 

Prepared  are  we  to  go, 
All  hand  in  hand,  to  the  bless'd  land 

Where  days  no  darkness  know. 

"  And  when  we  stand  before  the  throne 

O'  Him  above  that  be, 
We'll  say—'  Here  come  old  John  and  Joan, 

No  truer  hearts  than  we. 
'Tweren't  heaven  alone  without  my  Joan, 

We  must  together  be.'  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  reckon  that's 
all  right  enough,  but,  Joan — we'll  have  it  on 
the  monument." 

«  What,  John  ?  " 

"  Well,  ours  be  for  certain  a  most  coorious 
story.  You  was  buried  in  the  snow  three 
days,  and  I  nussin'  a  baby  three  days — and 
both  of  us  survived  the  operation — the  same 
day — simultaneous." 


DANIEL  JACOBS 

AN  old  man  with  white  hair,  an  intelligent 
face,  finely  cut  features,  and  lustrous  dark 
eyes  ;  dressed  in  discarded  garments  of  other 
folk  that  fitted  him  in  no  way,  a  cripple,  with 
distorted  leg,  and  a  green  baize  bag  under 
his  arm. 

Coat  and  trousers  are  like  Joseph's  gar 
ment,  of  divers  colours ;  not  that  they  were 
so  originally,  but  have  so  become  by  spill- 
ings  of  ale,  by  the  stain  of  peat  water,  by 
patching  of  incongruous  stuff,  by  mendings 
with  unsuitable  thread. 

Daniel  Jacobs  is  a  homeless  man.  He 
possesses  not  a  hearth  at  which  he  can  kindle 
his  fire,  nor  a  handful  of  thatch  to  cover  his 
white  head.  He  is  wifeless,  childless,  utterly, 
hopelessly  alone  in  this  rough  world.  Is — 
do  I  say?  Was — he  has  passed  away. 
But  as  I  write  these  words  concerning  him, 
the  figure  of  the  man  with  a  wasted  life  and 
51 


52  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

forlorn  old  age  rises  up  so  vividly  before  my 
mind's  eye,  that  he  seems  to  me  to  be  still 
present,  very  real,  and  not  a  memory. 

The  face  of  Daniel  Jacobs  is  not  to  be 
forgotten,  with  its  aquiline  nose,  delicately 
moulded  fine  lips,  and  wondrous  eyes. 

Daniel's  face,  pleasant  enough  in  repose, 
may  then  call  up  the  wish  that  a  little  more 
soap  and  water  had  been  applied,  a  little  bit 
of  razor  addressed  to  the  jaws  and  chin,  a 
little  combing  to  the  hair,  that  charity  would 
bestow  on  him  a  little  more  and  warmer 
clothing,  clothing  that,  at  least,  is  cleaner. 
But  when  Daniel  pulls  forth  his  old  violin, 
as  shabby  as  himself,  places  it  under  his 
chin,  and  draws  his  bow  across  the  strings, 
then  every  defect  is  forgotten  in  the  study 
of  his  eyes. 

A  far-off  look  comes  into  them.  You 
speak  to  him ;  he  does  not  hear  you.  He  is 
away  in  spirit  in  the  music  world,  seeking 
out  some  old  country  dance  tune,  or  some 
minor  ballad  air. 

Presently  Daniel's  eye  lightens,  as  though 
the  sun  has  shone  into  it,  a  smile  breaks  out 
on  the  worn  features  of  the  white  face,  and 
he  rapidly  fiddles  the  tune  that  he  has  found. 
Then — it  is  of  no  use  attempting  to  speak. 
He  neither  sees,  nor  hears,  nor  feels  anything, 


DANIEL  JACOBS  53 

he  is  wrapped  up  in  his  cloud  of  music, 
carried  off  in  a  whirlwind  of  harmonious 
sound — like  Elijah  transported  heavenward 
in  the  chariot  of  fire. 

Fine  strung,  sensitive  to  a  touch,  is  the 
soul  of  Daniel — again  I  write  of  the  man  as 
though  he  were  before  me.  I  cannot  other 
wise,  so  strongly  has  his  personality  impressed 
me. 

I  met  him  first  in  a  garden.  A  lady  had 
asked  him  to  come  and  meet  me,  and  play 
me  some  of  his  old-world  music.  He  came, 
and  sat  himself  down  under  a  syringa  bush. 
As  it  happened,  there  were  afternoon  callers 
— several  ladies  and  children,  and  when  told 
that  he  was  fiddling,  they  came  into  the 
garden  to  see  and  hear  Daniel. 

As  it  happened,  a  little  dog  jumped  about 
plucking  at  the  sash  worn  by  a  young  girl, 
and  she  laughed  aloud.  At  once  a  shiver 
passed  through  Daniel,  a  look  of  distress  came 
into  his  face,  and  he  attempted  to  creep  away. 

"  Why  are  you  going,  Daniel  ?  " 

"Please — I  know  I'm  an  old  man  and 
ridiculous — I  thought  the  ladies  had  had 
enough  o'  me." 

He  did  not  half  believe  it  when  assured 
that  the  laugh  concerned  the  dog,  and  not 
himself, 


54  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

There  is  a  song  that  was  composed  about 
the  time  of  the  death  of  General  Wolfe,  1 759  ; 
it  begins  thus — 

"  Bold  General  Wolfe  to  his  men  did  say, 
Come,  lads,  and  follow  me  without  delay, 
To  yonder  mountain  that  is  so  high; 
Don't  be  downhearted,  but  gain  the  victory. 

"  There  stand  the  French  on  the  summit  high, 
While  we  poor  lads  in  the  valley  lie ; 
I  see  them  falling,  as  motes  in  the  sun, 
Through  smoke  and  fire,  all  from  the  British  gun." 

It  concludes  with — 

"When  to  Old  England  you  do  return, 
Tell  all  my  friends  I  am  dead  and  gone ; 
And  bid  my  mother,  so  kind  and  dear, 
No  tears  to  shed  for  me,  a  hero's  grave  awaits  me 
here." 

Both  rhyme  and  metre  are  faulty,  but  there 
is  a  certain  pathos  in  the  words,  and  a  great 
deal  in  the  very  charming,  tender  air  that 
accompanies  them. 

I  had  often  heard  this  song  of  "Bold 
General  Wolfe,"  and  had  heard  many  variants 
and  some  grievous  corruptions  of  the  melody. 
I  asked  Daniel  if  he  knew  "  Bold  General 
Wolfe." 

He  did  not  answer  in  words.  The  far-off 
look  came  into  his  eyes,  he  remained  with 
bow  poised  in  air  waiting,  recalling.  I 


DANIEL  JACOBS  55 

hummed  to  him  the  opening  strain.  He 
heard  me  not,  he  had  gone  off  in  memory  to 
an  old  tavern  where  men  sat  about  the  worm- 
eaten  table  wet  with  ale  slops,  and  with  little 
piles  of  tobacco-ash  heaped  up,  and  he 
paused  listening  to  these  old  comrades  sing 
ing  in  the  far-away  past.  Then  the  sun  came 
into  Daniel's  countenance,  he  drew  his  bow 
across  the  strings,  and  played  the  tune  till  he 
reached  the  "  Don't  be  downhearted,"  when 
a  cloud  came  over  his  face,  his  eyes  became 
dull,  he  faltered  and  broke  down.  He  had 
forgotten. 

Again  he  essayed  "Bold  General  Wolfe," 
and  again  he  failed.  The  old  man  was  dis 
tressed  ;  he  would  not  be  able  to  relish  any 
meat,  not  drink  his  drop  of  ale,  not  sleep  a 
wink  of  sleep  till  he  had  recovered  "Don't 
be  downhearted." 

Presently  a  sigh  of  relief  came  from  his 
bosom. 

"I  reckon,"  said  he,  "there's  Tailor 
Vanstone  can  zing  he.  But  he  ain't  a  right 
tailor  neither,  for  he  don't  sit  cross-legged, 
for  as  he  harn't  got  but  one  leg  to  cross. 
T'other's  lost  somehow." 

"  Come  along,"  said  I,  "  we'll  go  visit  Mr. 
Vanstone." 

So  away  we  went  together,  the  poor  limping 


56  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

fiddler  and  myself,  in  quest  of  the  one-legged 
tailor.  We  found  him,  and  he  was  ready 
enough  to  supply  the  missing  strain.  Van- 
stone  had  a  stentorian  voice,  and  he  bellowed 
as  a  bull — "  Don't  be  downhearted !  Don't 
be  downhearted." 

"  A  minute ! "  pleaded  Daniel,  as  he  set 
his  fiddle  under  his  chin  and  twanged  the 
strings  to  get  the  key  in  which  Vanstone  was 
roaring. 

Vanstone  swelled  his  lungs  and  began 
again — 

"  Don't  be  downhearted !  Don't  be  down 
hearted  !  Don't  be  downhearted !  " 

A  smile  on  old  Daniel's  face,  and  with  his 
bow  he  ran  on,  and  sang,  "  But  ga-a-a-a-ain 
the  victory ! " 

Daniel  Jacobs'  life  has  been  a  wasted  one. 
His  is  a  wrecked  career.  He  told  me  one  clay 
how  this  came  about.  When  he  was  a  boy 
he  had  made  for  himself  a  little  fiddle,  and 
had  acquired  some  skill  on  it.  It  produced 
but  a  feeble  noise,  much  like  the  twittering 
of  the  toys  that  amuse  children,  when  a  quill 
strikes  a  cord. 

One  day  a  gentleman  heard  him  play,  and 
was  struck  by  his  skill  and  ingenuity. 

"  Dan'l,  would  you  like  to  become  a  musi 
cian  f " 


DANIEL  JACOBS  57 

It  was  as  though  a  sunbeam  shot  into  his 
heart  and  filled  it  with  glory.  I  can  conceive 
the  answer  of  the  boy — not  in  words,  but 
with  a  blaze  of  thankfulness  out  of  his  hand 
some  full  brown  eyes. 

"Well,"  said  the  gentleman,  "I  do  not 
mind  finding  the  money  for  your  training. 
Run  home,  Daniel,  and  get  your  father's 
consent,  and  we  will  make  a  great  man  of 
you." 

The  boy  ran,  nay,  bounded  home.  He 
did  not  feel  the  earth  under  his  feet. 

The  father  was  a  Methodist,  of  a  severe 
school. 

"  Make  a  fiddler  of  you  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  The  Lord  forbid  that  I  should  have  a  son 
turn  out  such  a  worthless  scamp.  Come 
along,  you  rascal,  with  me." 

He  caught  the  boy  by  the  arm,  dragged 
him  to  a  saddler,  and  then  and  there  appren 
ticed  him  to  that  man.  The  boy  became 
ill  with  disappointment;  he  could  not  eat 
nor  sleep.  He  cried  over  his  work  and  did 
it  badly.  He  was  ashamed  to  go  back  to 
the  gentleman  and  tell  him  that  he  had  not 
been  allowed  to  accept  his  generous  offer. 

"  That  wor  a  mistake,"  said  Daniel ;  "  I 
ought  to  ha'  done  it,  but  I  wor  part  shy, 
part  ashamed.  I  didn't  know  how  to  put  it 


58  DARTMOOR  IDYLLS 

to  the  gentleman — 'twas  Squire  Stoodly — 
that  was  like  as  if  I  threw  his  offer  back  in 
his  face,  and  so  I  let  it  alone.  And  I  worn't 
easy  i'  my  mind  about  that,  and  I  took  on 
cruel  about  myself,  for  I  didn't  fancy  the 
saddling  trade,  and  I  knowed  I'd  never  get 
on  in  that.  Well,  your  Honour,  next  winter 
were  a  green  winter  as  made  a  fat  church 
yard.  It  took  off  my  father  wi'  a  brown- 
kitties  (bronchitis),  and  Squire  Stoodly  wi' 
an  ulster  (ulcer)  in  his  stomick.  My  master 
he  sed  he  niver  could  make  nothing  rayson- 
able  out  o'  me,  but  I  bided  on  my  time, 
and  when  that  was  up,  he  sed  he  couldn't 
afford  to  keep  me  on,  as  I  weren't  worth  the 
thread  and  needles  I  broke  !  So — I've  been 


ever  since." 


Ever  since  a  wandering  fiddler,  homeless, 
almost  friendless.  Alas !  the  fiddle  took 
him  to  the  tavern,  and  there  he  was  treated 
to  ale  for  the  sake  of  his  fiddle,  and  was 
given  by  the  taverner  a  shake-down  in  a 
corner  of  the  stable  or  shed. 

What  little  money  he  earned  was  through 
his  needle.  He  travelled  from  farm  to  farm 
to  mend  broken  harness,  patch  up  torn 
saddles  ;  his  work  was  coarse,  uncouth,  but 
strong,  and  on  the  Moor,  who  cares  much 
for  the  appearance  of  his  horse  gear  ? 


DANIEL  JACOBS  59 

Always  with  the  old  fiddle  in  its  green 
case  under  his  arm,  he  trudged  about,  and 
was  given  work  where  there  was  work  to  be 
done,  and  never  was  denied  a  meal.  Per 
haps  he  might  have  done  better  had  he 
been  able  to  settle  down  and  open  a  little 
saddler's  shop,  but  the  violin  interfered,  that 
drew  him  to  the  public-house,  where  he  ex 
pended  his  little  earnings,  and  therefore  he 
was  never  able  to  accumulate  sufficient  to 
take  a  shop  and  stock  it. 

One  Sunday,  the  curate  in  charge  of  one 
of  the  chapels  on  the  Moor  met  ragged 
David  hobbling  along,  with  the  sweat-drops 
on  his  brow,  for  to  walk  was  painful  to  him. 
Said  the  curate — 

"  Mr.  Jacobs,  do  you  ever  go  to  a  place 
of  worship  ?  " 

Daniel  halted,  looked  vacantly  around  at 
the  brown  moor  with  the  grey  rocks  crown 
ing  the  heights,  drew  his  fiddle  from  the 
cover,  and  passing  the  bow  across  the  strings, 
played  "The  Old  Hundredth." 

That  was  his  sole  answer. 

He  put  back  the  fiddle,  and  hobbled  on. 
But  the  look  of  his  eyes  said,  "  My  work  is 
in  the  farm,  my  entertainment  is  in  the 
tavern,  my  worship — when  my  heart  rises 
to  God — is  here," 


60  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

Trouble  came  to  Daniel  Jacobs.  One 
blustering  night,  when  the  snow  fell  in 
flakes,  he  had  applied  for  work,  and  was  told 
there  was  none,  and  he  was  not  offered 
shelter  or  food.  To  proceed  over  the 
moors  was  impossible.  He  was  spent  with 
weariness,  and  in  his  crippled  condition  he 
could  not  get  along  in  the  snow. 

So  the  old  man  sought  out  a  barn,  in 
which  was  straw,  and  there  he  lit  his  pipe, 
and  began  to  tune  his  instrument. 

Now  the  farmer  suspected  that  Daniel 
had  not  gone  far,  so  he  went  to  look  for 
him,  before  he  shut  up  for  the  night,  and 
found  him  smoking  and  fiddling  among  the 
straw. 

This  was  too  much  for  his  endurance, 
and  Daniel  was  summoned  before  the  magis 
trates  and  sent  to  prison  for  a  calendar 
month. 

I  saw  the  old  man  somewhat  later — in  the 
summer.  I  had  invited  him  to  come  and 
see  me,  and  bring  me  a  budget  of  folk 
melodies  I  had  set  him  to  collect. 

He  appeared,  ragged,  forlorn,  with  his 
sweet,  engaging  smile,  that,  however,  almost 
brought  tears  into  the  eyes  of  those  who 
saw  him. 

"  I  beg  your  Honour's  pardon  if  I  have 


DANIEL  JACOBS  61 

not  done  what  your  Honour  set  me.  There 
was  a  little  circumstance  was  against  my 
doing  what  I  had  undertaken — with  the 
partic'lars  o'  which  I  needn't  trouble  your 
Honour ;  they  wouldn't  interest  none  but 
me  "  (that  meant  his  having  been  in  gaol). 
"  I'm  very  sorry  to  have  to  disappoint  you 
— but  since  then  I've  had  the  in-flow-in-sir 
(influenza)." 

The  summer  was  fine,  promised  to  be  un 
usually  dry  ;  so  I  encouraged  the  old  man 
to  employ  himself  through  it  in  collecting 
airs  for  me,  in  addition  to  his  usual  work  of 
going  round  the  farms  mending  harness. 

The  summer  passed,  and  I  heard  nothing 
of  him.  Then  I  thought  to  inquire  after 
the  fiddler  at  some  of  the  farms  to  which  he 
was  wont  to  resort.  At  each  I  was  told, 
"  Yes,  Dan  1,  he's  been  here.  Gettin'  ter 
rible  frail  and  uncertain." 

Where  could  he  be  ? 

No  one  was  responsible  for  him.  His 
home  was  nowhere.  He  was  but  a  bird  of 
passage  everywhere.  He  had  been  here, 
been  there,  walking  with  more  difficulty 
than  usual,  looking  whiter  in  face  than 
usual,  complaining  that  "this  here  in-flow- 
in-sir  had  left  him  cruel  weak."  It  was  sur 
mised  that  it  had  affected  his  mind.  He 


62  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

never  had  been  a  good  workman ;  now  his 
work  was  done  worse  than  ever,  and  he 
seemed  to  have  no  satisfaction  in  anything 
save  playing  his  violin. 

"  And  what  has  he  been  performing  ?  " 

"  Nothin'  particular,  just  a  bit  here  and  a 

bit  there — but  the  poor  old  chap,  he'd  sit  as 

one  lost  in  a  sort  o'  dream,  and  then  take  out 

his  fiddle,  and  begin  playing  and  singing — 

'  Don't  be  downhearted, 
Don't  be  downhearted, 

But  ga-a-a-a-ain  the  victory.'  " 

"  You  do  not  think  he  has  got  into  trouble 
again  ? " 

"N-no.  You  see  there's  no  depending 
on  him.  He  don't  seem  to  think  o'  nothing 
but  his  fiddle.  If  he'd  been  setting  fire  to 
anything,  we'd  have  heard.  But  bless  y' 
there's  no  more  malice  in  the  ou'd  man  than 
in  a  lamb  or  dove." 

Not  having  been  able  to  hear  tidings  of 
Daniel  Jacobs  at  the  farms,  I  inquired  at  the 
inns — not  at  temperance  taverns,  they  were 
not  likely  to  be  frequented  by  the  fiddler. 
What  a  strange  thing  it  was — here  was  this 
poor,  wrecked  life,  wrecked  and  poor 
through  one  fatal  mistake,  and  that  not  his 
own.  Had  his  father  suffered  him  to  accept 
the  offer  made  him  as  a  boy,  Daniel  might 


DANIEL  JACOBS  63 

have  been  a  prosperous  as  well  as  a  happy 
man.  Allowed  to  follow  his  natural  bent,  to 
develop  the  genius  that  was  in  him,  to  live 
in  his  proper  artistic  world,  he  would  have 
been  able  to  do  more  than  maintain  him 
self;  he  would  in  all  likelihood  have  had 
a  home,  with  wife  and  children,  perhaps  at 
this  age  even  grandchildren,  climbing  on  his 
knee  and  kissing  the  old  man,  as  they  played 
with  his  snowy  locks. 

It  was  infinitely  sad  to  think  that  a  father, 
well-intentioned,  generally  right-minded, 
should  have  marred  his  son's  life  by  one  act 
of  wrong  judgment.  The  life  of  this  man 
was  wreckage  from  end  to  end  ;  he  knew  it, 
he  traced  it  back  to  that  fatal  mistake,  but 
never  said  a  harsh  word  against  the  father 
who  had  spoiled  his  life.  "  You  see,  your 
Honour,  he  were  a  terrible  strict  man  in 
his  idees,  and  a  taytotaller."  So  this  was 
the  result  of  principles  carried  out  to 
exaggeration. 

No  doubt  the  old  man  felt  that  he  him 
self  was  too  full  of  fault  to  cast  a  stone 
against  his  father,  even  had  not  filial 
reverence  held  him  back  from  so  doing. 

Now  I  was  constrained  to  inquire  at  the 
public-houses  for  the  lost  son  of  the  "  tay- 
totaller."  I  heard  he  had  been  seen,  but 


64  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

no  one  knew  where  he  was.  No  publican 
was  responsible  for  him. 

"  Well,  sir/'  said  one  landlord,  "  I  was 
sorry  for  the  old  chap,  but  you  see  I  really 
could  not  keep  him  for  nothing.  He 
wouldn't  even  play  through  a  lively  bit  of  a 
dance  for  the  men,  he  went  rambling  about 
from  one  tune  to  another.  He'd  rayther 
suit  his  own  fancy  than  ours,  and  so  at  last 
he  went  away — fiddling  as  he  went." 

"  Fiddling  as  he  went  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  singing — 

{  Don't  be  downhearted, 
Don't  be  downhearted, 

But  ga-a-a-a-ain  the  victory.' " 

"  When  was  that  ?  " 

"  Only  yesterday." 

"  And  which  way  did  he  go  ?  " 

The  publican  indicated  the  direction. 

It  was  clear  to  me  that  Daniel  had  in 
tended  to  cross  a  portion  of  moorland  to  a 
farm  that  lay  some  miles  to  the  north.  The 
way  was  not  easy — there  intervened  some 
rock-strewn  slopes  and  several  rather  trouble 
some  bogs. 

I  thought  of  following  in  the  direction 
taken  by  him,  and  making  inquiry  at  the 
farm.  In  all  probability  I  would  find  him 
there. 


DANIEL  JACOBS  6$ 

A  friend  was  with  me.  We  agreed  to 
walk  thither  together,  and  on  the  way  to 
measure  an  avenue  of  upright  stones  that 
had  not  hitherto  been  planned.  We  had  a 
good  walk,  the  wind  was  cold,  and  there  was 
no  sun  ;  the  sky  overcast,  the  moor  plum 
colour  from  the  shadows  of  the  burdened 
clouds.  After  we  had  gone  some  distance 
my  friend  said,  "I  pity  your  old  cripple 
over  such  a  ragged  moor  as  this.  Could  he 
have  done  it  ?  " 

"  That  we  shall  soon  learn.  Yonder  is 
the  farm." 

We  reached  the  settlement, — a  house 
surrounded  by  fields  and  "  new-takes." 

Daniel  Jacobs  had  not  been  there. 

The  innkeeper  must  have  been  mistaken 
as  to  his  purpose. 

We  started  to  return,  and  had  walked 
nearly  half-way  back,  when  we  came  on  an 
old  ruined  cottage  in  a  coombe  ;  it  had  not 
been  tenanted  within  the  memory  of  man. 
No  trees  sheltered  it,  but  the  rotten  stumps 
of  some  remained.  Not  a  particle  of  roof 
was  in  position. 

My  friend  cast  himself  down  outside, 
where  the  wall  sheltered  him  from  the  cold 
blast.  "  I  vote  for  grub,"  said  he,  and  he 
unslung  his  bottle  of  cold  tea,  and  began  to 


66  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

unbuckle  the  bag  that  contained  sandwiches 
and  cake,  and  hard-boiled  eggs.  Nothing 
loth,  I  cast  myself  beside  him,  and  soon 
conversation  ceased,  as  both  were  engaged 
in  eating. 

Whilst  we  took  our  lunch,  at  intervals  a 
strange  and  inexplicable  sound  reached  our 
ears.  Both  noticed  it,  but  neither  spoke 
about  it  for  some  time.  Presently,  when  it 
had  been  repeated  for  half-a-dozen  times, 
my  friend  said,  "  Old  chap,  what  the  dickens 
is  that  ?  " 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

The  sound  was  peculiar,  musical,  as  of  a 
harp  twanged,  and  then  came  an  interval  of 
silence,  then  the  twang  again  long  drawn. 

"  Where  does  it  come  from  ?  "  asked  my 
friend. 

"I'll  go  see — it  is  somewhat  uncanny," 
said  I,  jumping  up,  leaving  my  flask  and 
sandwiches,  and  entering  the  ruin  by  the 
broken-down  doorway.  Then  I  started. 

Near  the  long-disused  hearth  and  the 
granite  chimney-piece,  supported  against  the 
jamb,  was  Daniel  Jacobs,  dead,  in  a  sitting 
posture,  and  beside  him,  fallen  from  his 
hand — the  violin. 

I  stood  silent,  amazed,  doubtful  whether 
the  old  man  really  was  dead — then  I  heard 


DANIEL  JACOBS  67 

the  plaintive  sound  again.  A  heather  bush 
grew  among  the  fallen  stones  beside  the 
fiddle,  and  the  wind,  driving  in  in  gusts 
through  the  broken  door,  carried  the  harsh 
branches  with  a  sweep  across  the  exposed 
strings ;  it  drew  forth  a  vibration — ceased, 
then  swept  like  mystic  fingers  over  the 
strings  again,  and  again  brought  out  that 
weird,  mournful  note.  I  looked  again  at  the 
old  man.  There  was  no  longer  the  old  far- 
off  look  in  the  eyes,  but  a  look  further  still. 
He  was  looking,  not  into  the  tone-world 
here,  but  into  the  world  of  harmony 
beyond. 


SNAILY   HOUSE 


THE  day  was  drawing  in — a  nasty  day, 
with  lumbering  clouds  rolling  up  from  the 
north-west  bursting  with  ice-cold  showers. 

The  spot,  moreover,  was  about  as  nasty 
an  one  as  could  have  been  found  for  ex 
posure  on  such  a  day,  and  for  encountering 
the  driving  rain,  chill  as  thawed  hailstones, 
and  nearly  as  hard  as  hailstones  unthawed. 

This  spot  was  the  road  that  crosses 
Dartmoor  from  Moreton  Hampstead  to 
Tavistock.  The  whole  of  this  wide,  howling 
wilderness  is  traversed  by  one  road  only, 
with  two  branches,  forming  the  letter  Y. 
One  branch  goes  north-east  to  Moreton,  the 
other  south-east  to  Ashburton,  from  a  point 
above  Two  Bridges — where,  by  the  way, 
of  bridges  there  is  but  one — situated  about 
half-way  through  Dartmoor. 

The  spot  on  which  we  are  looking  at  this 
69 


70  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

moment  is  half-way  up  the  left-hand  branch, 
precisely  where  that  road  reaches  its  highest 
elevation,  fifteen  hundred  feet  above  the  sea 
level,  and  where  is  planted  the  highest 
wayside  inn  in  England. 

All  round,  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  only 
brown  moor  rising  into  ridges,  falling  away 
into  deep  valleys,  the  shoulders  scarred  as 
though  they  had  been  lashed  by  the  knout 
of  the  Russian,  and  healed  over  in  welts — 
the  traces  of  ancient  tin-streamers'  works. 

The  wind  came  on  cutting  as  a  plough 
share  from  the  cold  staring  eye  of  the  wind, 
to  the  north-west,  over  which  hung  an  ink- 
black  frown  heavy  with  threat.  It  moaned 
in  the  heather,  it  piped  in  the  rushes,  it 
sobbed  in  the  bracken,  and  it  screamed  as 
in  the  agony  and  rage  combined  of  a 
tortured  idiot,  through  the  loose  stone  walls 
that  were  thrown  up  to  mark  tin-bounds, 
walls  of  stone  lace-work,  without  mortar,  and 
riddled  with  interstices. 

If  the  day  was  one  of  the  worst  con 
ceivable,  and  the  spot  one  of  the  most 
exposed,  those  struggling  along  the  road 
were  the  least  suited  to  encounter  the  in 
clemency  of  the  weather  and  place ;  they 
were  two  girls,  so  strikingly  alike,  and  so 
exactly  the  same  in  dress,  as  in  feature  and 


SNAILY   HOUSE  71 

height,  that  none  for  a  minute  could  doubt 
that  they  were  twin  sisters. 

"  Janie,"  said  the  one,  "  I  reckon  there  be 
anither  o'  them  Northern  Nannies  a-coming 


on  us." 


"  Joan,  I  fear  it  too,"  answered  the  other. 
"  They're  terrifying  things,  they  be." 

A  Northern  Nannie  is  one  of  those 
explosions  of  ice-cold  rain  in  a  driving  blast 
that  was  being  threatened  by  the  lowering 
sky. 

"Here's  a  public-house,  Janie,"  said  the 
second.  "  What  do'y  say,  shall  us  turn  in 
till  the  Nannie  be  a-passed  over  ?  " 

"  No,  Janie,  I  reckon  not.  It  don't  seem 
fitty  for  two  young  maidens  to  go  into  an 
ale-house,  and  there  be  miners  there  for 
sure." 

"  Whativer  shall  us  do  then,  Joanie  ?  Tis 
cruel  cold,  and  nothing  will  niver  keep  the 
rain  out  o'  we.  It  will  blow  right  into  our 
bones." 

"  There's  a  sort  o'  a  shay  at  the  door/' 

"  Yes,  but  what's  the  good  o'  a  shay  to 


we  ? 


"  Us  can  get  into  'n  out  o'  the  rain/' 
"No,  surely!" 

"  Yes,  why  not  ?     There  is  no  one  in  it." 
The  two  girls  came  to  the  carriage,  and 


72  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

peeped  through  the  glass  windows,  just  as 
the  rain  began  to  fall  like  a  volley  from  a 
regiment. 

The  conveyance  was  of  a  very  wonderful 
description.  It  was  painted  yellow,  it  had 
glass  in  front,  and  a  leather  apron.  It  would 
accommodate  two  persons  only,  like  a 
modern  hansom.  It  was  slung  on  immense 
C  springs.  This  conveyance  dated  from  the 
days  of  the  Regency,  when  the  Prince  came 
to  Dartmoor  to  visit  Sir  Thomas  Tyrwhitt 
at  Tor  Royal.  On  the  death  of  Sir  Thomas, 
this  had  been  sold  along  with  other  effects, 
and  had  passed  into  the  possession  of  a 
little  publican  at  Crockern  Tor,  named 
Leaman.  The  publican  was  dead,  and  his 
son  Joe  reigned  in  his  stead  at  "  The  Fox 
Brush,"  on  the  roadside. 

On  this  day  laden  with  Northern  Nannies, 
Joe  Leaman  had  driven  a  couple  of  gentle 
men  to  Moreton  Hampstead,  who  had  come 
to  the  moor  on  a  scheme  for  the  extraction 
of  naphtha  from  the  peat.  Now  he  was  on 
his  return  to  "  The  Fox  Brush/'  and  had 
turned  into  "  The  Warren  Inn  "  to  have  a 
drop  of  something  comforting  and  strength 
ening  against  the  sweep  of  the  gale  and  its 
icy  splash,  before  proceeding  on  his  way. 
The  patient  horse  remained  outside  bar- 


SNAILY   HOUSE  73 

nessed  to  the  conveyance,  with  head  down, 
its  hair  blown  into  rough  heaps  and  brakes. 
A  moorland  brute  little  heeds  wind  and 
rain,  so  long  as  it  can  turn  its  tail  to  both. 
This  creature  may  perhaps  have  felt  a  hard 
ship  in  having  to  face  the  blast  and  the 
stroke  of  the  rain,  but  it  bore  all  with  stolid 
endurance. 

"  There  be  no  one  in  the  carnage,"  said 
Joan.  "  I  reckon  us  could  do  worse  than 
hop  in." 

"  But  whativer  should  us  say  —  if 
found  ? " 

"  Say,"  repeated  Joan,  "  that  us  were  terri 
fied  at  the  rain,  and  us  wanted  to  keep  dry — 
and  two  modest,  decent  maidens  don't  go 
into  public-houses." 

The  rain  swept  almost  horizontally,  it  was 
more  like  the  rush  of  a  mill-sluice  than  of  a 
rain-storm.  The  girls  could  find  their  way 
into  the  trap  only  by  unbuttoning  the 
apron,  and  creeping  in  under  the  windows. 
Joan  led  the  way,  Jane  followed  with  hesi 
tation. 

"Shut  the  flap,  fasten  'n  do'y,"  said  Joan. 
"  Oh  my,  bain't  this  cosy  like  in  here  ? " 

Cosy  the  little  interior  was,  snugly  cush 
ioned,  warm  as  though  heated  by  a  stove — 
50  it  seemed  to  the  girls  as  they  found 


74  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

shelter  from  the  raging  wind  that  swept  from 
Labrador  charged  with  bitterness  and  cold. 

In  two  minutes  a  white  cloud  had  formed 
on  the  glass  panes  of  the  vehicle,  through 
which  nothing  could  be  seen  save  the  trick 
ling  of  drops  down  the  outside  of  the  glass. 

"  There's  a  fog  come  on — white  as  wool," 
said  Jane. 

"  I  reckon  not,"  answered  Joan.  "  See, 
with  my  finger  I  can  scatter  it."  Then  she 
drew  a  comical  face  on  the  pane  through  the 
cloud  of  condensed  breath. 

"  I  wonder  how  long  us  can  bide  here," 
mused  Jane.  "  'Twill  be  ten  times  worse 
when  us  have  to  get  out  again." 

"  You  be  easy/'  answered  the  sister ;  "  take 
comfort  while  you  may ;  the  driver  won't 
come  out  of  'The  Warren  Inn'  till  the 
Northern  Nannie  be  overpast,  and  then  us 
can  get  out  same  time.  When  the  weather 
suits  he  then  it  will  suit  we." 

The  girls  had  walked  for  several  miles, 
had  ascended  steep  hills,  had  been  exposed 
to  the  wind,  which  had  been  in  their  faces 
the  whole  way ;  each  was  encumbered  with 
a  tolerably  heavy  bundle  that  contained  a 
best  gown  and  necessary  articles.  Both 
were  somewhat  exhausted  with  exercise  and 
exposure  to  which  they  were  unwont.  Both 


SNAILY   HOUSE  75 

now  felt  the  satisfaction  of  rest  in  an  equable 
temperature,  and  in  a  luxurious  seat.  The 
transition  was  so  sudden,  that  it  produced  an 
unexpected  effect  on  the  sisters.  At  first 
they  lapsed  into  silence,  and  in  another 
moment  into  unconsciousness. 

Both  were  roused  with  a  start  by  the 
feeling  that  they  were  in  motion,  and  as  they 
gathered  their  senses  together,  became  aware 
that  the  vehicle  was  in  rapid  progression 
down  a  hill. 

The  sisters  looked  each  other  in  the  face 
— then  looked  before  them.  Through  the 
white  film  on  the  glass  they  could  see  some 
thing  looming  black  and  big.  It  was  the 
driver.  He  had  mounted  the  box  unper- 
ceived  by  them,  and  had  started  on  his  way 
unconscious  that  his  conveyance  was  occu 
pied  ;  for  the  vaporous  coating  of  the  panes 
that  prevented  the  girls  from  seeing  what  was 
outside,  prevented  him  from  observing  what 
was  within. 

What  were  they  to  do  ?  They  were 
frightened.  They  could  not  get  out.  They 
did  not  know  how  to  open  the  carriage,  and 
to  emerge  from  under  the  apron  in  a  crawl 
ing  posture,  whilst  the  conveyance  was  pro 
ceeding  at  a  rapid  pace  downhill,  was  not  to 
be  thought  of. 


;6  DARTMOOR    IDYLLS 

To  open  the  window  in  front  was  the  only 
thing  that  could  be  done,  and  in  their  ner 
vousness  and  inexperience  they  did  not  know 
how  to  do  this. 

It  was  not  till  the  bottom  of  the  hill  was 
reached,  the  pace  relaxed,  and  the  angle  at 
which  the  girls  had  been  inclined  was  re 
versed,  so  that  they  knew  that  they  were 
being  carried  uphill,  that  they  were  able  to 
open  a  pane  in  the  glass  front  and  cry  out 
for  the  carriage  to  be  stopped ;  and  then 
but  one  face  alone  could  engage  this  small 
opening.  "  Halloo  !  "  exclaimed  the  coach 
man,  and  bounced  off  his  seat  on  to  the  road, 
and  putting  up  a  hand,  opened  a  portion 
of  the  window.  "  By  the  pipers,  who  be 
here?" 

"  It  be  we,"  replied  Jane. 

"  And  who  be  we  ? "  asked  the  driver,  walk 
ing  by  the  side  of  the  carriage,  looking  in  with 
a  face  full  of  amusement  and  admiration. 
He  had  cause  to  be  amused,  and  to  admire. 
The  situation  was  certainly  a  droll  one.  The 
two  girls  had  gone  into  a  trap  that  had  shut 
on  them,  and  he  had  them  in  his  power. 
He  had  cause  to  admire,  for  they  were  both 
girls  of  remarkable  beauty,  fair  in  complexion, 
with  a  pure  rose  in  their  cheeks,  eyes  blue 
as  the  speedwell,  and  hair  like  spun  gold. 


SNAILY   HOUSE  77 

u  Ton  my  word ! "  laughed  the  driver, 
"  which  is  which  ?  "  He  meant  that  both 
were  so  much  alike,  that  one  was  the  counter 
part  of  the  other. 

"  Who  be  you,  maidens  ? "  he  asked,  as 
he  walked  alongside  of  the  imprisoned 
damsels,  laughing  and  looking  mischievous. 

"Us  be  Joan  and  Jane  Westlake,"  an 
swered  the  timid  Jane.  "  Us  were  going  to 
our  aunt  to  Whiteslade." 

«  What— to  Snaily  House  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  some  folks  do  so  call  it.  Do'y 
now  let  us  get  out." 

"  And  where  do'y  come  from  now  ? "  he 
asked,  without  acknowledging  the  petition. 

"  Us  be  from  Chudleigh.  Since  Aunt 
Susanna's  death  at  Snaily  House,  Aunt 
Sarah  be  that  terrible  lonely,  her  has  sent 
for  we." 

"  Going  to  feed  you  on  snails,  be  she  ? " 

Neither  girl  answered  this  question. 

"  Be  you  going  to  live  with  she  ? "  asked 
the  driver. 

"Yes,  I  reckon.  Some  one  must  be  wi' 
aunt,  and  Jane  can't  go  wi'out  I,  and  me 
can't  be  separated  from  Joan." 

"Then  you  be  sisters?" 

"  Aye,  twins." 

"Thought  so;  you're  like  as  two  blooms 


78  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

on  one  stalk,  and  two  purty  berries  on  one 
witch-beam  (mountain-ash)  branch;  or  two 
gladdys  (yellow-hammers)  singing  in  one 
tree." 

"Can't  you  now  let  us  out,  and  stay 
makin'  remarks  ?  "  asked  Joan. 

"  It's  getting  late/'  said  the  driver.  "  The 
night  will  be  set  in  another  hour." 

"  More's  the  reason  we  should  be  on  our 
feet,  and  away  to  Whiteslade." 

"I  be  purty  sure  you'd  niver  find  your 
way  in  the  dim'mets  (dusk),  and  you'd  get 
lost  on  the  moor." 

"  Then  let  us  out." 

"That  would  be  a  cruel  job — two  lost 
innocent  lambs  in  the  howling  storm  and 
the  pitch-black  night." 

"Let  us  out!" 

"  I'll  see  about  you  bein'  put  straight  for 
Snaily  House.  You  leave  that  to  me." 

Then  the  man  jumped  on  the  box,  lashed 
the  horse,  and  away  whirled  the  trap  down 
a  hill  at  a  rapid  pace.  He  had  shut  and 
buckled  the  window.  Communication  with 
him  could  be  had  only  through  the  one 
pane  that  opened  inwards. 

Thenceforth  he  remained  on  the  box,  and 
would  listen  to  neither  entreaty  nor  expostu 
lation.  The  girls  were  carried  on  beyond 


SNAILY   HOUSE  79 

that  point  of  the  road  where  they  believed 
they  ought  to  have  turned  on  to  the  pathless 
heath,  they  could  do  nothing  to  extricate 
themselves,  and  finally  they  sank  back  on 
the  cushions,  sobbing  with  vexation  and 
alarm. 

And  yet — there  was  an  element  in  the 
situation  that  prevented  them  from  being 
over-vexed  and  over-alarmed.  The  driver 
— who  was  Joe  Leaman  —  was  a  young, 
handsome,  good-natured  man.  His  face 
was  open  and  full  of  sunshine.  It  was  not 
possible  for  the  girls  to  think  that  he  in 
tended  other  than  kindness,  though  that 
kindness  might  be  irksome  and  contrary  to 
their  wishes. 

Suddenly  he  whisked  through  a  gate,  and 
in  another  minute  drew  up  in  front  of  a 
small,  stone-built,  slated  inn — "The  Fox 
Brush."  Now  he  came  to  the  side,  opened 
the  window,  unbuttoned  the  apron,  and  held 
out  his  hand  to  assist  the  girls  to  descend. 

"You  must  excudge  me,  maidens,"  he 
said.  "  But  I  weren't  going  to  let  two  white 
doves  like  you  go  flittering  over  the  moor 
at  nightfall,  an'  any  number  o'  hawks  about. 
So  I've  just  brought  you  to  my  house, 
where  ou'd  mother,  her'll  take  kear  o'  you, 
and  you  shan't  want  for  nothin',  and  to- 


8o  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

morrow  I'll  just  go  wi'  you  to  Snaily  House. 
And,  moreover,"  he  added,  with  a  laugh,  "  I 
thought  as  how  before  goin'  there  to  feed 
on  slugs,  you'd  best  have  a  good  supper  off 
Dartimoor  mutton." 

"We  must  go  to  Aunt  Sarah,"  expostu 
lated  Jane. 

"  You  can't  do  it,  missie !  It's  miles 
away,  and  it's  getting  black  night  already. 
Come  in,  and  don't  mak'  a  pair  o'  fuils 
(fools)  o'  yourselves.  Mother '11  look  arter 
you  both,  and  you'll  bring  a  blessin'  on  this 
house — us  '11  be  entertainin'  angels  for  sure ; 
and  us '11  make  ye  as  welcome,  and  give  ye 
o'  our  best,  as  did  the  ou'd  Patriarch 
Abraham,  when  he  were  visited  by  like 
guests." 

The  girls  were  compelled  by  circum 
stances  to  submit.  It  was  obviously  im 
possible  for  them  to  make  their  way  in 
darkness  across  the  moor,  where  there  was 
no  path.  The  rain  had  settled  in  for  a  night 
of  downpour.  They  entered  the  inn,  and 
the  young  man  in  a  few  words  explained  to 
his  mother  who  they  were,  and  why  they 
were  present. 

She  received  them  without  much  gracious- 
ness,  she  was  manifestly  annoyed  at  her 
son's  inconsiderate  proceeding.  He  ought  to 


SNAILY   HOUSE  81 

have  allowed  the  sisters  to  alight  at  Post 
Bridge,  on  the  Dart,  whence  they  could 
have  followed  the  river  to  their  aunt's,  and 
if  they  did  not  know  the  way,  might  have 
engaged  a  boy  as  guide. 

It  was  distressing  to  the  girls  to  hear  the 
remarks  made  by  Mrs.  Leaman,  and  they 
would  gladly  have  escaped  had  this  now 
been  feasible  ;  but  a  look  from  the  door,  the 
splashing  of  the  rain  against  the  window,  as 
though  buckets  of  water  were  discharged 
against  the  glass,  showed  them  that  to  leave 
the  house  would  be  madness,  and  Joe  did 
everything  in  his  power  to  reconcile  them  to 
the  inevitable,  and  to  neutralise  his  mother's 
ill-humour. 

Happily  there  was  no  stranger  in  the  inn. 
The  badness  of  the  night  prevented  moor- 
men  from  coming  there  for  drink,  so  that 
the  sisters  had  the  house  to  themselves,  and 
Joe  had  nothing  to  distract  him  from 
devoting  his  entire  attention  to  them. 

He  endeavoured  to  amuse  them,  to  dissi 
pate  their  shyness,  to  interest  them  in  the 
moor^  to  which  they  were  strangers,  and 
not  a  little  to  startle  them  with  wild  tales 
concerning  it,  of  the  Wish  Hounds  that 
hunted  across  it,  fire-breathing  black  dogs 
said  to  course  the  wide  wastes  of  a  night, 


82  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

driven  on  by  a  mysterious  hunter,  whose 
horn  may  be  heard,  as  well  as  his  call  to 
the  dogs,  but  who  himself  is  rarely  if  ever 
seen. 

Next  morning  the  sun  shone  brightly. 
The  wind  had  fallen,  and  there  was  promise 
of  a  beautiful  day.  The  moor  grass  twinkled 
with  rain-drops,  the  cobwebs  were  strung 
with  pearls,  a  delicate  vapour  like  the  finest 
gauze  veil  covered  the  landscape. 

Under  the  guidance  of  their  host,  the 
girls  started  for  the  house  of  their  aunt. 

Reserve  had  given  way  under  the  genial 
influence  of  the  good-nature  of  Joe,  and 
his  mother  had  relaxed  her  sternness  when 
the  sisters  insisted  on  paying  for  their 
lodging  and  food.  Joe  had  protested, 
blustered,  but  the  girls  had  been  resolute, 
and  Mrs.  Leaman  eager  to  receive  the  pay. 
The  girls  Joan  and  Jane  started  cheer 
fully  on  their  walk  with  Joe,  who  carried 
their  bundles. 

How  fair  these  sisters  were  in  the  bright 
morning  light !  What  sparkle  there  was  in 
their  brilliantly  blue  eyes  !  What  a  delicate 
changing  glow  on  their  smooth  cheeks! 
What  a  lustre  in  their  hair !  And  oh !  the 
powers !  said  Joe  to  himself — what  lips  for  a 
fellow  to  see  and  not  to  be  able  to  kiss — for 


SNAILY    HOUSE  83 

why  ?  because  he  could  not  make  up  his 
mind  which  were  the  most  kissable,  those  of 
Joan,  or  those  of  Jane. 

"  I  wonder  why  you  call  Aunt  Sally's 
house  by  its  wrong  name  ? "  said  Joan. 
"  It  was  christened  Whiteslade." 

To  this  Joe  only  answered, "  I  hope  you'll 
get  summut  better  to  eat  than  slugs  and 
snails." 

There  was  a  story  to  account  for  the 
peculiar  designation,  but  Joe  Leaman  had  no 
mind  to  tell  it.  The  story  was  this. 

Two  old  maids  had  long  lived  at  White 
slade,  a  solitary  cottage  on  the  East  Dart 
below  Laughter  Tor,  hid  behind  a  "  clatter  " 
of  fallen  rocks,  overshadowed  by  half-a- 
dozen  sycamore  and  ash  trees.  Here  they 
had  lived  without  ostensible  means  of  sub 
sistence  for  many  years.  They  did  not  go 
to  market,  no  dealer,  miller,  grocer  came 
to  their  door,  remote  from  every  road. 
They  employed  no  man  to  till  their  garden, 
and  all  they  grew  was  a  few  potatoes 
and  cabbages.  Nourishing  the  moor  air 
might  be,  but  it  could  not  sustain  life 
unassisted. 

The  farmers  for  some  time  had  missed 
sheep.  At  length  suspicion  was  aroused  ;  it 
was  thought  that  these  old  sisters  lured  the 


84  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

sheep  by  charms  to  their  habitation,  and 
then  killed  them  for  their  larder,  or  else 
that  they  went  hunting  them  by  night, 
riding  broom-sticks. 

The  farmers  assembled  and  surrounded 
the  lonesome  cottage,  forced  their  way  in, 
and  found — -jars  full  of  salted  slugs ;  not  a 
particle  of  meat,  not  a  trace  of  bones. 

And  now,  the  elder  of  the  sisters  was 
dead,  and  the  nieces  were  on  their  way  to 
live  with  the  surviving  aunt,  whom  they  had 
never  seen,  and  only  heard  of  vaguely,  so 
completely  had  these  poor  women  kept 
themselves  to  themselves. 

Joan  and  Jane  were  orphans,  without 
father  and  mother,  and  they  came  to  their 
surviving  relative,  Aunt  Sally,  of  Snaily 
House. 

Since  the  discovery  of  the  potted  slugs, 
the  moormen  had  dealt  kindly  with  the  old 
women,  had  often  sent  them  offerings  of 
part  of  a  sheep,  or  some  portions  of  a  pig 
when  killed  ;  cheese,  butter,  cake,  had  come 
to  them  from  the  farmers'  wives. 

The  twin  sisters  were  much  astonished 
at  the  wildness  of  the  way,  the  complete 
isolation  of  Whiteslade  ;  and  were  a  little 
dismayed  at  the  prospect  of  living  in  such 
a  home. 


SNAILY   HOUSE  85 

Joe  escorted  them  to  the  paddock  in 
which  stood  the  house,  and  there  left  the 
sisters,  that  he  might  return  to  "The 
Fox  Brush." 

When  he  came  home,  he  met  his  mother 
in  the  doorway.  She  looked  more  grim  than 
ever. 

"  Well,  Joe,"  said  she,  in  harsh  tones, 
"which  is  it  to  be?" 

Joe  took  off  his  cap  and  scratched  his 
head.  A  look  of  blank  perplexity  came  into 
his  honest  eyes. 

"  One — -for  sure  sartain,"  he  said  ;  "  but 
dratted  if  I  know  which." 

Next  day  Joe  was  engaged.  Travellers 
passed  along  the  road  in  the  direction  of 
Tavistock  to  market  in  the  morning,  and  in 
the  opposite  direction,  returning  from  market, 
in  the  evening. 

But  the  day  following  was  Saturday, 
when  a  Sabbath  rest  fell  on  the  high-road — 
that  repose  which  ever  succeeds  a  market 
day. 

Then  Joe  got  his  stick,  put  on  his  hat, 
and  buttoned  his  gaiters. 

"  Where  be  you  off  to  now  ? "  asked  his 
mother. 

"  I  be  going  to  Snaily  House." 

"  What  for  ?  " 


86  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

"  I  want  to  see  as  the  ou'd  woman  there 
ain't  a- feeding  of  them  lovely  sisters  wi'  slugs. 
And,  mother,  I  reckon  there's  a  bit  o'  thickey 
(that  there)  veal-and-ham  pie  left.  I  think 
as  I'll  take  it  wi'  me.  I  can't  a-bear  to 
believe  as  them  beautiful  coral  lips  be  a- 
consuming  of  snails." 

"Which  coral  lips,  Joe?" 

The  young  man's  face  became  perturbed. 
"  That's  just  what  I  be  going  to  find  out," 
he  answered. 

When  he  returned  in  the  evening  he  sat 
himself  by  the  fire,  threw  out  his  legs,  and 
said,  "  Mother,  I  do  believe  as  it  must  be 
Joan." 

But  as  he  said  Good-night  to  his  mother 
some  hours  later,  he  muttered :  u  I  made  a 
misreckon,  mother  —  Jane  is  the  maid  for 
me." 


SNAILY   HOUSE  87 


II 

FOR  the  first  time  in  the  lives  of  these 
sisters  a  small  thorn,  causing  some  pain  and 
estrangement,  had  entered  their  hearts. 

Alas !  Joe  Leaman  was  the  cause. 

When  the  young  man  appeared  on  the 
furzy  hill  opposite,  descending  among  the 
granite  boulders,  with  his  sheep-dog  barking 
and  gambolling  before  him,  then  each  sister 
felt  at  once  a  gleam  of  sunshine  in  her  heart, 
but  that  same  gleam  produced  also  its 
shadow.  For  each  thought — He  has  come 
for  me — and,  Oh !  if  my  sister  were  not 
here! 

Moreover,  when,  after  having  done  some 
kind  act,  as  patching  up  a  broken  door, 
thatching  a  rotted  roof,  piling  up  the  moor 
stones  that  walled  in  the  little  garden,  Joe 
went  away  without  having  spoken  definite 
words  encouraging  either  to  believe  that  she 
was  his  chosen  one,  then  Joan,  with  some 
bitterness,  resented  the  pertinacity  with  which 
Jane  had  clung  to  her,  and  had  refused  to 
leave  her  alone  for  half-an-hour  with  Joe,  to 


88  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

give  him  that  opportunity  which  he  had 
doubtless  sought,  and  for  which  he  had 
purposely  come. 

And  Jane  in  her  gentle  soul  felt  a  pang 
of  disappointment,  because  Joan  had  neg 
lected  to  do  the  necessary  cooking  that 
day,  and  had  not  left  her  alone  with  Joe 
Leaman. 

In  fact,  each  sister  was  jealous  of  the  other 
sister.  Each  was  suspicious  of  the  other. 
Each  begrudged  the  other  that  happiness 
she  looked  to  obtain  for  herself. 

Outwardly,  the  twins  were  as  attached  and 
as  inseparable  as  before,  and  yet  each  was 
aware  that  a  barrier  was  rising  that  alienated 
their  hearts  from  each  other.  Each  strug 
gled  against  this  feeling.  Each  tried  hard 
to  imagine  the  other  as  the  wife  of  Joe  Lea 
man,  and  herself  content  that  it  should  be 
so,  and  yet — so  rebellious,  so  masterful  is  the 
human  heart,  that  neither  could  control  it, 
and  bind  it  down  to  feel  as  good  sisterhood 
would  require  it. 

Jane  felt  a  pang  in  her  heart  whenever  Joe 
smiled  on  and  addressed  a  pleasant  word  to 
Joan,  and  Joan  was  uneasy  and  jealous  when 
ever  Joe's  attention  was  unduly  engrossed  by 
Jane. 

The  sisters  had  small  means  of  their  own. 


SNAILY    HOUSE  89 

They  were  not  in  the  condition  of  abject 
poverty  that  had  forced  their  aunts  to  live  on 
pickled  slugs.  The  two  old  women  had  been 
too  proud,  too  independent  to  turn  to  their 
relatives  for  help,  when  they  occupied  a  tene 
ment  for  which  they  were  required  to  pay 
nothing,  and  could  maintain  life  on  what 
nature  so  bountifully  supplied,  the  huge, 
fat,  black  slug  that  battened  on  the  deli 
cate  grass  of  the  moor,  and  that  was  a 
game  sought  by  none,  begrudged  them  by 
nobody. 

Now  that  one  of  the  old  women  was  dead, 
the  sister  who  remained,  Aunt  Sally,  had  to 
be  weaned,  gently  yet  firmly,  by  the  girls 
from  her  "  snaily  meals,"  as  they  called  her 
diet  on  fresh  or  potted  slugs.  They  per 
sisted,  with  perhaps  cruel  kindness,  for  it  was 
certain  that  Aunt  Sally  did  not  thrive  on  good 
mutton  and  white  bread  as  she  had  on  the 
old  rye  cakes  and  moorland  slugs. 

Or  was  it  that  the  presence  of  two  fresh 
charming  nieces  in  exuberant  life  was  over 
powering  to  the  poor  old  woman,  accus 
tomed  for  many  years  to  no  other  society 
than  that  of  her  silent  and  slow-moving 
sister  ? 

Both  Joan  and  Jane  were  considerate  and 
kind  to  the  old  creature,  they  could  not  have 


90  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

been  more  so.  But  habit  had  become  so 
strong  with  Aunt  Sally  that  she  could  not 
accustom  herself  to  anything  other  than  that 
mode  of  life  to  which  she  had  been  accus 
tomed  in  her  sister's  time,  any  more  than 
she  could  to  the  change  of  diet.  Her  birth 
day  came,  and  with  it  a  couple  of  ducks,  the 
present  of  Joe  Leaman. 

"  Ducks !  Oh !  Ducks !  "  exclaimed  the 
twins  with  one  voice.  "  We'll  have  'em  for 
supper,  and  eat  auntie's  many  happy  returns 
and  good  health  in  'em." 

But — alack-a-day  and  well  is  me !  as  Joan 
said  afterwards — "  It  was  them  ducks  did  it." 

What  the  ducks  did  was  to  finish  off  Aunt 
Sally.  She  ate  heartily  of  roast  duck,  and 
relished  what  she  had  not  tasted  for  fifty- 
three  years,  and  in  the  night  had  a  stroke  of 
apoplexy. 

She  was  speechless  next  day,  but  on  the 
second  day  recovered  a  little  power  in  her 
tongue.  She  could  recognise  her  nieces, 
hold  their  hands,  and  she  spoke. 

"  Don't  be  troubled,"  she  muttered,  "  the 
duck  did  it.  I  ain't  accustomed  to  duck — • 
only  to  snails." 

"  Shall  us  send  for  a  doctor  ?  "  asked  one 
of  the  sisters,  partly  of  the  aunt,  partly  of  the 
other. 


SNAILY   HOUSE  91 

"Joe  said  as  how  in  extreme  cases  the 
doctor  from  the  prisons  out  to  Princetown 
were  allowed  to  come." 

"  I  want  no  doctor,"  said  the  sick  woman. 
"  Duck  did  it.  This  be  a  wicked  world  for 
sure — ducks  is  terrible  rich — and  there  was 
the  ingin  stuffin'  too." 

Then  her  mind  began  to  wander. 

"  Shall  us  send  for  Mr.  Coaker,  the  Wes- 
leyan  local  ? "  asked  Jane. 

"  I  reely  don't  know,"  said  Joan.  "  Auntie, 
be  you  happy  ?  Be  you  feeling  comfort 
able  ? " 

"  Duck  !  "  whispered  the  patient,  pointing 
to  her  bosom. 

"  I  mean  elsewhere  ?  "  said  Joan. 

But  Aunt  Sally  had  passed  into  semi- 
unconsciousness. 

The  sisters  sat  watching  her  for  some 
minutes  in  anxiety  and  doubt. 

Presently  a  smile  broke  out  on  the  old 
woman's  face,  just  such  as  comes  over  the 
landscape  after  a  rainy  day,  when  at  sun 
down  the  cloud  masses  are  lifted  slightly  at 
the  horizon,  and  a  flood  of  brightness  and 
beauty  envelops  the  scene. 

Jane  bowed  over  her  aunt,  kissed  her, 
and  whispered — 

"  What  is  it,  auntie  darling  ?  " 


92  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

"  I  reckon  I  sees  Susanna/'  she  replied — 
Susanna  was  the  sister  who  was  dead. 
"  Her's  all  a-blazin'  wi'  light ;  and,  oh  my ! 
ain't  the  fields  green  and  shining  too — 
and  such  fat  'uns." 

"  Fat  what,  auntie  ?  " 

"And  lots — scores " 

«  What  ?     Lots  of  what,  dear  ?  " 

"  Snails.  Susanna  is  a  pickin'  of  'em.  I 
be  comin',  Susanna ;  keep  some  for  me  ! " 

She  never  spoke  again. 

When  Aunt  Sally  was  buried  in  Wide- 
combe  churchyard,  then  the  sisters  Joan 
and  Jane  had  to  consider  what  they  should 
do — whether  remain  at  Snaily  House,  or 
return  into  the  world ;  whether  subsist  as 
they  well  could  on  their  tiny  income  in  this 
lonesome  spot,  or  separate  and  enter  service. 

They  elected  to  remain.  Independence 
was  a  great  boon.  They  loved  each  other, 
and  could  not  endure  the  idea  of  being 
parted.  The  thought  of  Joe  retained  them. 
Surely  now  he  would  make  his  election,  and 
then  the  one  who  was  put  aside  would  leave 
and  swallow  her  disappointment  elsewhere, 
and  in  new  scenes,  among  new  acquaintances, 
try  to  forget  Joe  and  become  reconciled  in 
mind  to  her  sister  being  chosen  instead  of 
herself. 


SNAILY   HOUSE  93 

But  Joe  did  not  speak,  or  rather  he  spoke 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  raise  equal  expecta 
tions  in  the  hearts  of  both. 

They  told  him  that  it  had  entered  into 
consideration  with  them  whether  they 
should  leave  Whiteslade. 

"  Oh,  don't  do  that !  Whativer  should  I 
do  wi'out  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Joe.  "  Besides, 

it  mayn't  be  so  long  before — before  I " 

then  he  paused  and  looked  at  Joan  and  next 
at  Jane,  significantly.  "  You  know  what  I 
mean,"  he  said,  confidentially.  "  You  know 
what  brings  me  over  the  moors  to  Snaily 
House." 

"  Oh,  Joe !  "  said  Joan.  "  Do'y  think  us 
could  have  it  put  on  auntie's  tombstone  as 
she  died  o'  duck  ?  " 

"  Because,"  explained  Jane,  "  folks  do  say 
such  tales  about  the  snails ;  and  it  wasn't 
snails  at  all,  it  was  duck  did  it." 

Time  passed — a  year — another  year,  and 
the  two  girls  remained  at  Snaily  House, 
living  on  quietly,  happily,  but  always  with  a 
little  jar  in  their  affection  for  each  other,  a 
little  fly  in  their  cup  of  happiness ;  always 
with  a  fearful  looking  forward  to  the 
moment  when  Joe  would  decide  which  of 
the  two  he  would  take.  And  each  sister 
felt  that  when  that  decision  was  made,  even 


94  DARTMOOR    IDYLLS 

if  he  chose  her,  there  would  be  in  her  heart 
an  ache  almost  overbalancing  the  happiness, 
at  the  thought  of  her  sister's  disappointment, 
sorrow,  and  desolation  when  parted  from 
her,  and  left  alone  in  the  world. 

Then  Joe's  mother  died. 

She  had  been  an  obstruction  all  along. 
She  had  not  relished  the  prospect  of  having 
"  one  o'  them  Snaily  House  maidens "  as  a 
daughter-in-law.  She  had  grumbled  when 
ever  Joe  took  presents  to  the  girls.  She 
had  found  fault  with  him  equally  for  his 
persistence  in  going  to  see  them,  and  for 
his  inability  to  decide  which  he  would 
select. 

The  sisters  had  come  to  understand  that 
the  eventful  day  of  proposal  was  postponed 
throughout  the  life  of  the  mother,  because 
of  her  opposition. 

When  she  was  gathered  to  the  dust,  then 
this  difficulty  was  removed.  Joe  must  cer 
tainly  have  some  one  to  manage  "  The  Fox 
Brush,"  and  whom  could  he  take  better 
than  either  Joan  or  Jane  Westlake  ?  But  it 
was  manifestly  improper  for  him  to  think 
of  such  a  thing  immediately  after  his 
mother's  death.  He  could  not  marry  when 
in  deep  mourning.  And  yet  the  house 
must  be  carried  on. 


SNAILY   HOUSE  95 

Accordingly  Joe's  sister  Betsy,  who  had 
recently  lost  her  husband,  came,  and  soon 
laid  hold  of  the  reins  and  conducted  the 
public-house  in  a  masterful  and  experienced 
manner. 

The  year  passed,  and  the  band  six  inches 
deep  of  black  crape  that  Joe  wore  on  his 
Sunday  hat  had  shrunk  to  one  of  an  inch 
and  a  half.  But  he  had  not  spoken.  He 
still  visited  Whiteslade.  He  still  professed 
the  warmest  regard  for  the  sisters — equally. 

Sometimes,  it  must  be  confessed,  there 
was  an  effusiveness  in  his  manner,  combined 
with  a  watery  look  of  the  eye,  combined 
also  with  a  certain  atmosphere  that  pervaded 
him,  which  made  the  sisters  shrink.  Was 
it  the  case  that  Joe  was  taking  to  drink — 
good-natured,  generous,  harmless  Joe  ? 

"  You  see/'  said  Joan,  "  he  is  a  publican, 
and  he  must  sometimes  for  good  fellowship 
take  a  drop  with  those  who  step  in." 

"  And  then,"  said  Jane,  "  he  is  so  amiable, 
he  can't  refuse  nobody — and — it's  good  for 
trade." 

However  much  the  sisters  might  to  each 
other  excuse  this  fault  in  Joe,  neither  could 
conceal  from  herself  that  it  was  morally 
inexcusable  in  a  young  man,  and  might  lead 
to  very  serious  consequences. 


96  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

In  fact,  Joe  was  falling  into  the  vicious 
habit  of  taking  nips  of  the  spirits  and  ale 
which  he  distributed.  He  was,  possibly, 
helped  to  this  evil  habit  by  the  irresolution 
in  his  own  mind  as  to  what  he  was  to  do 
with  himself,  to  which  of  the  sisters  he  was 
to  offer  his  hand  and  "The  Fox  Brush. " 
An  irresolute  man  is  a  weak  one.  He  often 
is  conscious  of  his  irresolution,  and  seeks 
to  find  strength  outside  of  him  instead  of  in 
his  own  moral  nature. 

Joe's  sister,  Mrs;  Betsy  Squance,  was  a 
strong-minded  woman,  not  particularly  scru 
pulous  where  her  own  interests  were  con 
cerned.  She  had  made  up  her  mind,  in  the 
event  of  her  remaining  a  widow,  to  spend 
the  rest  of  her  days  at  "  The  Fox  Brush," 
and  that  could  only  be  by  the  exclusion  of 
one  or  other  of  the  twin  sisters  at  Snaily 
House. 

She  used  her  superior  force  of  character 
to  dissuade  her  brother  from  marriage,  not 
openly  but  by  various  underhand  methods, 
and  she  allowed  him  unreproved  to  contract 
the  habit  of  taking  liquor ;  for  the  more  he 
thus  weakened  his  moral  vigour,  the  less 
likely  he  was  to  come  to  a  decision  relative 
to  the  sisters,  the  more  sure  she  was  of 
maintaining  her  position  behind  the  bar — 


SNAILY   HOUSE  97 

a  position  where,  as  she  considered,  she 
might  catch  a  successor  to  the  late  Thomas 
Squance.  Should  she  succeed  in  doing  this, 
then,  indeed,  Joe  was  heartily  welcome  to 
take  to  him  one  or  both  of  the  twin  sisters 
— for  aught  she  cared. 

So  passed  another  year.  Now  the  inch 
and  half  strip  of  mourning  had  been  dis 
carded  from  Joe's  hat.  Still  the  sisters 
were  at  Snaily  House,  still  Joe  remained  in 
hesitating  admiration  of  both,  in  uncertainty 
which  he  most  admired,  and  in  trepida 
tion  how  Betsy  Squance  would  take  it, 
did  he  come  to  a  decision  and  make  his 
election. 

One  cold,  stormy  night  Joan  and  Jane 
were  sitting  over  their  peat  fire.  They 
owed  their  peat  to  Joe.  He  had  lent  his 
horse  and  cart  to  draw  it  for  them  after 
it  had  been  cut  and  set  up  to  dry,  and 
Joe  had  sent  a  man  to  cut  their  peat  for 
them.  Joe  himself  had  stacked  it  for 
them. 

The  whole  house  was  fragrant  with  the 
smoke,  for  the  wind  that  drove  down  the 
glen  sent  puffs  out  of  the  chimney  into  the 
room.  It  is  said  that  consumption  is  un 
known  on  Dartmoor.  This  is  perhaps  due 
largely,  if  not  wholly,  to  the  turf  smoke — 


98  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

strongly  antiseptic — that  pervades  every 
dwelling. 

The  sisters  were  not  speaking,  each  was 
knitting  a  stocking  for  Joe — Joan  one  for 
his  right  leg,  Jane  one  for  his  left  leg. 
They  had  begun  the  task  simultaneously, 
and  had  got  just  the  same  distance  with 
each.  Each  sister  was  occupied  with  the 
same  thought,  and  that  thought  was — But 
for  my  sister,  I  should  be  Joe's  wife.  My 
sister  stands  between  me  and  the  man  I 
love. 

And  yet  each  innocent,  generous  heart 
twinged  at  the  thought;  for  each  dearly 
loved  the  other.  The  sisters  lived  in  greater 
comfort  at  Snaily  House  than  would  have 
been  possible  elsewhere.  Their  little  garden 
brought  forth  all  the  vegetables  they  needed. 
The  moor  provided  them  with  fuel.  They 
kept  a  pig.  They  kept  a  cow.  The  moor 
provided  the  cow  with  pasturage  winter  and 
summer  alike.  The  marshy  portions  of  the 
moor  furnished  rushes  wherewith  to  thatch 
their  house,  and  those  of  cow  and  pig. 
The  hill-sides  supplied  a  stack  of  bracken 
that  made  the  richest,  softest  bedding  for 
the  cow.  There  was  really  very  little  that 
they  needed  which  was  not  furnished  by  the 
moor.  They  made  their  own  rush  candles. 


SNAILY   HOUSE  99 

They  spun  their  own  wool.  They  even 
ground  their  own  flour  in  a  hand-mill,  an 
old  tinner's  pounding  quern  that  they  had 
found  lying  near  Whiteslade. 

The  sisters  were  startled  by  a  knock  at 
the  door;  it  was  thrown  open,  and  in 
staggered  Joe — much  the  worse  for  liquor. 

"  Come  in,  Thomas  Over ! "  he  shouted  ; 
"  I've  won  my  bet." 

Then  he  stumbled  towards  the  fireplace. 

"  I've  laid  five  shillings,"  he  said,  "  with 
Tom  Over.  He  sez — sez  he — you  live  on 
snails,  as  did  the  old  women.  I  sez — sez  I 
— you  don't.  Five  shillings.  Done.  Five 
shillings.  Drat  it!  where  be  Tom  Over 
to?" 

Then  he  threw  himself  down  before  the 
fire,  and  began  to  chuckle. 

"There  bain't  no  snails  here.  We'll 
drink  that  five  shillin'  out.  That  us  will. 
Thomas  Over  !  "  he  began  to  shout.  Joan 
looked  at  Jane  in  dismay,  and  Jane  at  Joan 
in  disgust. 

The  wind  blew  down  the  chimney  and 
carried  a  drift  of  smoke  before  it  over  the 
prostrate  man,  and  powdered  him  with  white 
ash-dust,  light  and  white  as  snow. 

"Tom  Over!"  he  shouted  again,  "I 
give  y'  leave  to  go  all  through  the  house, 


ioo  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

and  look  where  you  will,  you'll  find  no  pots 
o'  pickled  slugs  as  in  the  ou'd  women's  time. 
Tom  Over !  out  wi'  them  five  shillings." 

He  laid  his  head  on  his  arm — began 
laughing  and  muttering  to  himself,  and  fell 
asleep. 

The  sisters  remained  where  seated,  the 
head  of  the  inebriated  man  at  the  feet  of 
Jane,  his  boots  at  the  feet  of  Joan.  The 
red  glare  of  the  glowing  turf  fire  was  on  his 
puffed,  heavy  face. 

Joan  stood  up,  went  to  the  door,  listened 
without,  and  heard,  far  away,  a  voice  call 
ing  ;  then  she  shut  the  door,  barred  it,  and 
drew  down  a  blind  to  prevent  the  light  from 
within  shining  forth  and  serving  as  a  guide 
to  the  lost,  drunken  Over. 

That  done,  she  came  back  to  her  place 
and  reseated  herself.  For  more  than  an 
hour  the  eyes  of  the  sisters  rested  on  the 
man  at  their  feet.  There  were  still  youth 
and  good  looks  in  the  face,  there  was  some 
thing  finely  moulded  in  the  nose  and  chin, 
but  the  fair  picture  had  been  drawn  through 
beer-slops,  and  its  beauty  was  effaced.  And 
as  each  looked,  the  thought  worked  in  each 
brain — Supposing  he  had  taken  me,  and  I 
had  gone  to  be  mistress  of  "The  Fox 
Brush";  then  could  I  have  withheld  him 


SNAILY    HOUSE  101 

from  the  evil  course  which  he  has  taken  ? 
Could  I  have  found  in  such  a  weak,  easily 
deflected  character  a  stay  for  my  soul,  an 
equivalent  for  the  love  of  my  dear  sister,  a 
lot  happier  than  this  one,  so  peaceful  in 
Snaily  House  ? 

And  then  rose  up  another  thought  in  each 
mind.  How  is  it  that  I  am  not  the  wife  of 
this  drunken  sot?  How  is  it  that  I  have 
been  saved  against  myself?  Had  Joe  asked 
me  to  be  his,  inevitably  I  would  have  put 
my  hand  in  his,  with  a  "Yea."  But  he 
never  did  ask  me  that  question  which  would 
have  altered  the  whole  course  of  my  life. 
Why  ?  Because  he  never  could  resolve  in 
his  own  heart  which  of  us  sisters  he  cared 
most  for.  But  for  the  presence  of  my  sister, 
what  a  lot  would  have  been  mine ! — a  lot  of 
disappointment  in  the  man  of  my  choice,  of 
vain  struggles  to  restrain  him  from  his  evil 
proclivity,  of  heartache,  of  sullen  despair,  of 
shame  and  ruin;  for  what  else  can  such  a 
course  lead  to  but  the  loss  of  everything  that 
constitutes  happiness,  and  the  withdrawal  of 
prosperity  from  the  house  owning  a  drunken 
master  ? 

The  sisters  held  their  breath  with  a  catch. 
Joe  was  moving — he  was  awake. 


102  DARTMOOR    IDYLLS 

He  raised  himself  on  one  elbow,  thrust 
his  hand  through  his  matted  hair,  and  stared 
dreamily,  stupidly  about  him. 

"Where  be  Tom  Over  to?  I  want  my 
five  shillings." 

Then  he  looked  hard  at  Joan,  next  at 
Jane. 

"Lor'  bless  me!"  said  he.  "Whativer 
carr'd  I  here  ?  But  it  don't  matter  now  I 
be  here.  I  remember,  I  came  of  a  purpose. 
There's  my  sister  Bess,  she's  gone  and  took 
Tom  Over,  and  they  be  goin'  to  set  up  a 

public  to  Post  Bridge  together — and " 

he  looked  at  one  sister,  then  at  the  other. 
"  And — so,  I  reckon  I  must  make  up  my 
mind  now — and  take " 

Then  Joan  rose — so  did  Jane. 

And  Joan  clasping  her  sister  round  the 
waist,  and  Jane  throwing  her  arm  round  her 
sister's  neck,  the  two  graceful  girls  stood 
above  the  stupefied  man,  who  tried  vainly  to 
stagger  to  his  feet.  The  red  firelight  glowed 
in  their  fair  faces,  making  the  blush  of  anger 
and  annoyance  deep  in  hue,  deep  as  a 
crimson  mountain  rose. 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind — I  will 
take " 

Joan  cut  him  short. 


SNAILY   HOUSE  103 

"We  also  have  made  up  our  minds. 
You  will  take  neither  of  us.  Leave  this 
house,  join  your  drunken  companion." 

Then  each  sister  spread  her  arms,  and 
sobbing,  fell  on  the  other's  bosom,  exclaim 
ing — "  Oh  dear,  dear  sister,  how  can  I  ever 
thank  you  enough — that  you  saved  me  from 
— from  myself?" 


EPHRAIM'S   PINCH 

A  LITTLE  on  one  side  of  the  track  that 
leads  to  Widecombe  in  the  Moor,  and  that 
branches  from  the  main  artery  of  travel 
which  runs  from  Tavistock  to  Moreton 
Hampstead,  and  thence  to  Exeter,  is  an 
ancient  tenement  in  the  midst  of  the  waste, 
called  Runnage. 

A  word  on  the  ancient  tenements. 

From  time  immemorial  certain  spots  on 
the  moor  have  been  favoured,  as  lying  to  the 
sun,  having  shelter  from  the  winds,  as  iflear 
pure  springs  of  water,  and  as  possessing  tracts 
of  somewhat  deep  soil.  The  first  who  settled 
in  these  pleasant  spots  were  primeval  colonists 
far  away  in  the  gloom  that  precedes  history ; 
but  ever  since,  these  sunny  slopes  have  been 
held  by  persons  who  claimed  a  prescriptive 
right  to  the  dwellings  and  the  enclosures 
around.  The  holders  of  these  tenements 

hold  under  the  Prince  of  Wales.     As  little 
105 


106  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

trout  are  devoured  by  great  trout,  so  has  it 
been  on  the  moor.  The  Duchy  of  Corn 
wall  has  bought  up  these  freeholds  when 
ever  it  has  had  the  chance.  In  1344  there 
were  forty-four ;  in  the  beginning  of  last 
century  the  number  had  shrunk  by  ten,  and 
now  is  further  reduced  to  ten.  Singularly 
enough,  the  owner  of  one  of  these  is — the 
Poor  of  Brixham. 

Runnage  lies  in  a  very  lonesome  spot — 
the  hills  that  fold  about  it  to  the  back  and 
west  afford  sufficient  shelter  for  sycamores 
to  have  grown  to  a  considerable  size — 
sycamore,  the  one  tree  which  will  hold  its 
own  anywhere. 

The  tenants  of  these  holdings  enjoy  great 
rights  by  custom.  The  heir  of  each  and 
every  one,  on  the  death  of  each  and  every 
tenant,  has  by  custom  the  privilege  of 
enclosing  eight  acres  of  the  forest  or  waste 
ground,  paying  therefor  one  shilling 
annually  to  the  Three  Feathers ;  and  this 
enclosure  is  called  a  new-take.  No  wonder 
that  the  Duchy  of  Cornwall  does  all  in  its 
power  to  rid  itself  of  these  encroaching 
neighbours.  The  new-take  walls  have  wrought 
the  destruction  of  the  rude  stone  monuments ; 
avenues  of  upright  stones,  circles,  cromlechs, 
kistvaens  have  been  ruthlessly  pillaged,  used 


EPHRAIM'S   PINCH  107 

as  quarries  which  have  been  handy.  In  a 
great  many  cases  the  largest  upright  stones 
have  been  seized  upon  as  gate-posts,  or 
thrown  across  the  leats  and  rivers  as  bridges, 
or  have  been  utilised  to  prop  up  linhays,  and 
the  lesser  stones  that  perhaps  commemorated 
some  insignificant  tribesman  have  been  left, 
whilst  the  great  menhir  set  up  in  honour  of 
his  chief  has  disappeared.  Sometimes  the 
builders  of  the  new-take  walls  threw  down 
a  great  monolith  with  the  intention  of 
breaking  it  up,  and  then  abandoned  it  be 
cause  they  found  smaller  stones  more 
handy ;  sometimes  they  transported  such 
big  stones  part  way  to  the  new  wall,  and 
cast  them  down,  as  being  too  heavy  for  their 
arms  to  convey  any  further.  The  marvel  is 
that  so  much  still  remains  after  over  a 
thousand  years  of  wanton  ravage. 

Runnage  tenement-house  is  new.  The 
ancient  farm  dwelling  has  been  rebuilt  in 
recent  times,  but  at  the  time  of  our  story 
the  old  dwelling  was  standing.  It  was  a 
typical  moor-house.  A  gateway  in  a  high 
wall  of  rude  granite  blocks  built  up  without 
mortar  gave  access  to  a  paved  courtyard, 
very  small,  into  which  all  the  windows  of 
the  house  looked.  Here  also  were  the 
outhouses,  stables,  pig-sties,  the  well-house, 


io8  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

the  peat  store,  the  saddle  and  farm  imple 
ment  houses.  All  opened  inwards,  all  could 
be  reached  with  very  little  exposure.  The 
main  door  of  the  dwelling  did  not  open  into 
the  kitchen,  but  into  a  sort  of  barn  in  which 
every  sort  of  lumber  was  kept,  with  the 
fowls  roosting  on  the  lumber.  This  served 
as  a  work-house  for  the  men  on  rainy  or 
foggy  days ;  here  they  could  repair  damaged 
tools,  hammer  out  nails  and  rivets,  store 
potatoes,  nurse  the  sheep  in  "  yeoning  time," 
prepare  the  rushes  for  thatching.  Here  at 
the  end  were  heaped  up  high  to  the  roof  vast 
masses  of  dry  bracken  to  serve  as  bedding, 
and  in  this,  in  bad  weather,  the  children 
played  hide-and-seek,  and  constructed  them 
selves  nests.  At  Runnage  at  one  time  lived 
the  substantial  tenant,  Quintin  Creeber, 
paying  to  the  Crown  a  slight  acknowledg 
ment,  and  thriving  on  the  produce  of  his 
sheep  and  kine  and  horses.  He  tilled  little 
grain,  grew  no  roots.  There  was  always 
grass  or  hay  for  his  beasts.  If  the  snow 
lay  on  the  ground  deep,  then  only  had  he 
recourse  to  the  hayrick.  What  little  grain 
he  grew  was  rye,  and  that  was  for  the 
household  bread. 

Quintin  Creeber  had  a  daughter,  Cecily, 
or  as  she  was  always  called  Sysly,  a  pretty 


EPHRAIM'S   PINCH  109 

girl  with  warm  complexion,  like  a  ripe 
apricot,  very  full  soft  brown  eyes,  and  the 
richest  auburn  hair.  She  was  lithe,  strong, 
energetic  ;  she  was  Quintin's  only  child,  his 
three  sons  were  dead.  One  had  been  killed 
in  a  mine,  one  had  died  of  scarlet  fever,  and 
the  third  had  fallen  into  the  river  in  time  of 
flood,  and  had  acquired  a  chill  which  had 
carried  him  off. 

Sysly  would  be  the  heir  to  Quintin — in 
herit  Runnage,  his  savings,  and  the  right, 
on  her  father's  death,  of  enclosing  another 
eight  acres  of  moor.  On  the  loss  of  his  sons, 
Quintin  had  taken  into  his  service  one 
Ephraim  Weekes,  a  young  man,  broad- 
shouldered,  strongly  built,  noted  as  a  con 
structor  of  new-take  walls.  Ephraim  had  a 
marvellous  skill  in  moving  masses  of  granite 
which  could  not  be  stirred  by  three  ordinary 
men.  It  was  all  knack,  he  said,  all  done  by 
pinching,  that  is  to  say,  by  leverage.  But 
he  used  more  than  a  lever — he  employed 
rollers  as  well.  Without  other  than  a  ready 
wit,  and  a  keen  estimation  of  weights  and 
forces  drawn  from  experience,  Ephraim  was 
able  to  move  and  get  into  place  blocks 
which  two  and  even  three  other  men  would 
avoid  touching.  He  was  not  a  tall  man, 
but  was  admirably  set  and  proportioned. 


i  io  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

He  had  fair  hair  and  blue-grey  eyes,  a  grave, 
undemonstrative  manner,  and  a  resolute 
mouth. 

Instead  of  wearing  hair  about  his  face,  it 
was  Ephraim's  custom  to  shave  lip  and 
cheek  and  chin;  the  hair  of  his  head  he 
wore  somewhat  long,  except  only  on  two 
occasions  when  he  had  his  hair  mown  by 
the  blacksmith  at  Widecombe;  one  of 
these  was  Christmas,  the  other  midsummer. 
Then  for  a  while  he  was  short-cropped,  but 
his  hair  grew  rapidly  again. 

He  was  a  quiet  man  who  did  not  speak 
much,  reserved  with  the  farmer,  and  not 
seeking  companionship  at  the  nearest  ham 
let  of  Post  Bridge,  where  was  the  tavern,  the 
social  heart  of  the  region. 

Ephraim  was  the  younger  son  of  a  small 
farmer  at  Walna,  a  house  with  a  bit  of  land 
that  had  been  parted  off  from  Runnage 
tenement  at  some  time  in  the  tenth  century. 
Walna  could  not  maintain  four  men,  beside 
the  farmer  and  his  wife,  consequently  the 
youngest,  Ephraim,  was  obliged  to  seek 
work  away  from  the  parental  house,  and  he 
had  been  employed  repairing  fallen  walls, 
and  constructing  new  ones,  till  Quintin 
Creeber  had  engaged  him  as  a  labourer  on 
his  farm.  Not  for  one  moment  had  it 


EPHRAIM'S   PINCH  in 

occurred  to  the  owner  of  Runnage  that  this 
might  lead  to  results  other  than  those  of 
business  between  master  and  man — that  it 
was  possible  Ephraim  might  aspire  to  Sysly, 
and  his  daughter  stoop  to  love  the  labouring 
man. 

It  was  quite  true  that  in  the  matter  of 
blood  the  Creebers  and  the  Weekes  were 
equal,  but  a  moorman  is  too  practical  a 
man  to  consider  blood ;  he  looks  to  position, 
to  money.  The  husband  he  had  in  his  eye 
for  his  daughter  was  a  man  who  had  capital 
wherewith  to  develop  the  resources  of  the 
farm,  to  enlarge  the  new-takes,  to  break  up 
fresh  soil,  to  buy  well-bred  horses,  and 
double  the  number  of  oxen,  and  quadruple 
that  of  sheep  kept  on  the  farm  and  the  moor 
over  which  he  had  free  right  of  common. 
Quintin  would  have  hesitated  to  take  into 
his  employ  Killeas,  that  is  to  say,  Archelaus 
Weekes,  the  eldest  son  of  his  neighbour  at 
Walna,  a  handsome  fellow,  with  a  song  or  a 
joke  always  in  his  mouth,  who  loved  to  romp 
with  the  girls,  who  liked  his  glass  at  the 
tavern ;  but  Ephraim  was  different ;  what 
girl  would  care  for  him,  plain,  silent,  without 
wickedness  (i.  e.  mischief)  in  him,  who  never 
made  or  understood  a  joke  ? 

Sysly  was  aged  seventeen  when  Ephraim, 


ii2  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

a  man  of  twenty-three,  came  into  the  service 
of  Quintin  Creeber.  He  served  faithfully 
for  seven  years,  and  never  gave  the  farmer 
cause  to  reproach  him  for  inactivity,  was 
ever  docile,  obliging,  and  industrious.  Such 
a  man  was  not  to  be  found  elsewhere ;  such 
a  combination  of  great  strength,  skill,  and 
sobriety.  Creeber  esteemed  himself  most 
lucky  in  having  such  a  servant.  Ephraim 
did  more  than  two  other  men,  and  never 
asked  for  increase  of  wage,  never  grumbled 
at  the  tasks  imposed  upon  him. 

When  the  seven  years  were  over,  then  Sysly 
was  twenty-four,  and  Ephraim  was  thirty. 
There  had  come  suitors  for  the  girl — among 
them  the  eldest  son  of  the  farmer  Weekes, 
the  light-hearted,  handsome  Killeas.  She 
had  refused  him.  The  young  farmer  of 
Belever  had  sued  for  her,  and  had  been 
rejected,  greatly  to  the  wonder  of  Quintin. 
Now  when  the  seven  years  were  over,  then 
Ephraim,  in  his  wonted  quiet,  composed 
manner,  said  to  the  owner  of  Runnage : 
"  Maister,  me  and  your  Sysly  likes  one 
another,  and  we  reckon  us  '11  make  one. 
What  sez  you  to  that,  maister  ?  " 

Quintin  stared,  fell  back  in  astonishment, 
and  did  not  answer  for  three  minutes,  whilst 
he  gave  himself  time  for  consideration.  He 


EPHRAIM'S   PINCH  113 

did  not  want  to  lose  a  valuable  servant.  He 
had  no  thought  of  giving  him  his  daughter. 
So  he  said  :  "  Pshaw !  you're  both  too  young. 
Wait  another  seven  years,  and  if  you  be  in 
the  mind  then,  you  and  she,  speak  of  it 
again."  Ephraim  took  Quintin  at  his  word, 
without  a  remonstrance,  without  an  attempt 
to  persuade  him  to  become  more  yielding. 

He  remained  on  another  seven  years. 

Then  Sysly  was  aged  thirty-one,  and  he — 
thirty-seven.  On  that  very  day  fourteen 
years  on  which  he  had  entered  the  house  at 
Runnage,  exactly  when  the  seven  years  were 
concluded,  at  the  end  of  which  Farmer 
Quintin  had  bid  him  speak  of  the  matter 
again,  then  Ephraim  went  in  quest  of  him, 
with  the  intent  of  again  asking  for  Sysly. 
He  had  not  wavered  in  his  devotion  to  her. 
She  had  refused  every  suitor — for  him.  He 
found  the  old  man  in  the  outer  barn  or 
entrance  to  the  house ;  he  was  filling  a  sack 
with  rye. 

"  I  say — Ephraim,"  he  spoke  as  Weekes 
entered.  "There's  the  horse  gone  lame, 
and  we  be  out  of  flour.  What  is  to  be  done  ? 
Sysly  tells  me  there  bain't  a  crumb  of  flour 
more  in  the  bin,  and  her  wants  to  bake  to 


once." 


"  Master,"  said  Ephraim,  "  I've  waited  as 

i 


ii4  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

you  said  this  second  seven  years.  The  time 
be  up  to-day.  Me  and  Sysly,  us  ain't  a- 
changed  our  minds,  not  one  bit.  Just  the 
same,  only  us  likes  one  another  a  thousand 
times  dearer  nor  ever  us  did  afore.  Will  y' 
now  give  her  to  me  ? " 

"  Look  y'  here,  Ephraim.  Carry  this  sack 
o'  rye  on  your  back  to  Widecombe  mill, 
and  bring  it  home  full  o'  flour — and  I  will." 

Then  he  hastily  went  out. 

He  had  set  the  man  an  impossible  task. 
It  was  five  miles  to  the  mill,  and  the  road  a 
mountainous  one.  But  he  had  put  him  off 
— that  was  all  he  cared  for. 

In  the  room  was  Sysly.  She  had  heard 
all. 

She  came  out ;  she  saw  Ephraim  tying 
up  the  neck  of  the  sack. 

"  Help  her  up  on  my  back,  Sysly/'  said 
he. 

"  Eph ! — you  do  not  mean  it !  You  can't 
do  it.  It's  too  much." 

"He  said — Carry  this  sack  to  Wide- 
combe  mill,  and  bring  'n  back  full  o'  flour, 
and  you  shall  have  her." 

"It  was  a  joke." 

u  I  don't  understand  a  joke.  He  said  it. 
He's  a  man  of  his  word,  straight  up  and 
down." 


EPHRAIM'S   PINCH  115 

Sysly  helped  the  sack  up.  But  her  heart 
misgave  her. 

"Eph!"  she  said,  u  my  father  only  said 
that  because  he  knew  you  couldn't  do  it." 

"  I  can  do  it — when  I  see  you  before 
me." 

"  How  do  y'  mean,  Eph  ?  " 

"  *  Bring  back  the  sack  o'  flour,  and  you 
shall  have  her.1  Sys  !  I'd  carr'  the  world  on 
my  back  for  that." 

He  was  strong,  broad-shouldered,  and  he 
started  with  his  burden. 

Sysly  watched  him  with  doubt  and  un 
rest. 

Was  it  possible  that  he  could  reach 
Widecombe  with  such  a  burden?  If  he 
reached  the  mill,  could  he  carry  back  the 
sack  of  flour  ?  She  watched  him  down  the 
hill,  and  across  the  Wallabrook  that  gave  its 
name  Walna1  to  his  father's  farm.  Then 
ensued  an  ascent,  and  she  saw  him  toiling 
up  the  hill  of  Sousson's  Moor  with  the  sack 
on  his  back. 

Was  there  any  avail  in  his  undertaking 
this  tremendous  exertion  ? 

Surely  her  father,  if  he  had  intended  to 
give  his  consent,  would  not  have  made  it 

1  Now  corrupted  into  Warner. 


ii6  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

conditional  on  the  discharge  of  such  a  task  ! 
Surely,  if  he  had  designed  to  make  Ephraim 
his  son-in-law,  he  would  not  have  subjected 
him  to  such  a  strain ! 

Was  it  not  probable  that  Ephraim  would 
do  himself  an  injury  in  attempting  this  im 
possible  task  ? 

Cicely  knew  the  resolution,  the  love  of  the 
silent,  strong-hearted  man ;  she  felt  assured 
that  he  would  labour  on  under  his  burden, 
toil  up  the  steep  slopes — struggle,  with  per 
spiration  streaming,  with  panting  lungs  and 
quivering  muscles,  up  the  great  ridge 
of  Hamledon — that  he  would  pursue  his 
purpose  till  nature  gave  way.  And  for 
what  ? 

She  did  not  share  his  confidence  in  the 
good  faith  of  her  father. 

She  watched  Ephraim  till  the  tears  so 
clouded  her  eyes  that  she  could  see  the 
patient,  faithful  man  no  longer. 

Hours  passed. 

The  evening  came  on;  and  Quintin 
Creeber  returned  to  the  house. 

"Where  is  Ephraim?''  he  asked.  "I 
want  to  have  the  mare  blistered — she  can't 
put  a  foot  to  the  ground." 

"Ephraim  is  gone  to  Widecombe," 
answered  Cicely. 


EPHRAIM'S   PINCH  117 

"  To  Widecombe  ?  Who  gave  him 
leave  ?  " 

"  Father,  you  told  him  to  carry  the  sack." 

Old  Creeber  stood  aghast. 

"  To  carry  the  sack  o'  rye  !  " 

"  You  told  him  he  was  to  take  that  to  the 
mill,  and  bring  back  flour." 

"  It  was  nonsense.  I  never  meant  it.  It 
was  a  put-off.  He  cant  do  it.  No  man 
can.  He'll  chuck  the  sack  down  on  the 
way  and  come  back  without  it." 

"  He'll  never  do  that,  father." 

Quintin  Creeber  was  much  astonished. 
The  man  had  taken  him  at  his  word.  The 
more  fool  he.  He  had  attempted  the  im 
possible.  Well,  there  was  this  advantage. 
When  Weekes  returned  without  the  flour  or 
rye,  he,  Quintin,  would  be  able  to  laugh  at 
him  and  say  :  "You  have  not  fulfilled  the 
condition,  therefore — no  Cicely  for  you." 

Quintin  Creeber  walked  out  of  his  farm 
buildings  and  went  to  the  Widecombe 
road. 

"  Pshaw !  "  said  he.  "  The  man  is  an  ass. 
He  couldn't  do  it.  He  should  have  known 
that,  and  not  have  attempted  it." 

As  he  said  these  words  to  himself,  he  dis 
cerned  in  the  evening  glow  over  Sousson's 
Moor  a  figure  descending  the  path  or  road. 


u8  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

"  By  gum !  "  said  the  farmer.  "  It  is 
Ephraim.  He's  never  done  it — he  has 
come  back  beat.  Turned  half-way.  How 
the  chap  staggers  !  By  crock !  He's  down, 
he's  fallen  over  a  stone.  The  weight  is  too 
much  for  him  descending.  I  swear — if  I 
didn't  know  he  were  as  temperate  as — as — 
no  one  else  on  the  moor,  I'd  say  he  were 
drunk,  he  reels  so.  There  he  be  now  at  the 
bridge.  Hah!  he  has  set  the  sack  down, 
and  is  leaning — his  head  on  it.  I  reckon 
he's  just  about  dead  beat.  The  more  fool 
he.  He  should  ha'  known  I  never  meant  it. 
What — he's  coming  on  again.  Up-hill ! 
That'll  try  him.  Gum  !  A  snail  goes 
faster.  He  has  to  halt  every  three  steps. 
He  daren't  set  down  the  sack,  he'd  never  get 
her  on  his  back  again.  There  he  is — down 
on  one  knee — kneeling  to  his  prayers  be 
he !  or  taking  his  breath  ?  He's  up  again, 
and  crawling  on.  Well,  I  reckon  this  is  a 
pretty  bit  of  a  strain  for  Ephraim,  up  this 
steep  ascent  wi'  a  sack  o'  flour  on  his  back, 
and  four  to  five  miles  behind  him." 

The  farmer  watched  the  man  as  he  toiled 
up  the  road,  step  by  step  ;  it  seemed  as  if  each 
must  be  the  last,  and  he  must  collapse,  go 
down  in  a  heap  at  the  next.  Slowly,  however, 
he  forged  on — till  he  came  up  to  Quintin. 


EPHRAIM'S   PINCH  119 

Then  the  yeoman  saw  his  face.  Ephraim 
was  haggard,  his  eyes  starting  from  his  head ; 
he  breathed  hoarsely — like  one  snoring ;  and 
there  was  froth  on  his  lips. 

Quintin  Creeber  put  his  hand  under  the 
sack. 

"  By  gum  !  "  said  he.     "  Flour !  " 

It  was  even  so.  That  man  had  carried  the 
burden  of  rye  to  the  mill,  and  had  come 
back  with  it  in  the  condition  of  flour. 

Half  supporting  the  sack,  the  farmer 
attended  his  man,  as  he  stumbled  forward, 
turned  out  of  the  road,  and  took  the  track 
to  Runnage. 

Ephraim  could  not  speak.  He  looked 
out  of  his  great  starting  eyes  at  the  master, 
and  moved  his  lips,  but  foam,  not  words, 
formed  on  them.  They  were  purple, 
cracked,  and  bleeding. 

So  they  went  on  till  they  reached  the  farm. 

Then,  in  the  outer  chamber,  without  a 
word  Ephraim  dropped  the  sack,  and  sank 
against  it  and  pointed  to  Sysly,  who  appeared 
in  the  door. 

"  Gammon  ! "  said  Quintin.  "  You 
weren't  such  a  fool  as  to  think  to  have  she  ? 
Her's  not  for  you — not  though  you've  took 
the  sack  and  brought  'n  back  again.  Sysly 
— yours — never  !  " 


120  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

The  man  could  not  speak.  He  sank, 
slipped  down,  and  fell  before  the  sack,  that 
partly  held  him  up.  His  head  dropped 
forward  on  his  breast. 

"  Look  up,  Ephraim.  Don't  be  a  fool," 
said  the  yeoman. 

He  was  past  looking  up.     He  was  dead. 

On  the  old  Ordnance  map  of  1809  I  see 
that  the  steep  ascent  up  which  Weekes 
made  his  last  climb,  laden  with  the  sack  of 
rye  flour,  is  marked — "  Ephraim's  Pinch." 

As  a  moorman  said :  "  That  was  a  pinch 
for  Ephraim — such  a  climb  with  such  a 
weight  after  nine  miles;  but  there  was  for 
he  a  worser  pinch,  when  old  Creeber  said, 
'  It  is  all  for  nought.  You  shan't  have  she.' 
That  pinched  Ephraim's  heart,  and  pinched 
the  life  out  of  he." 

But  I  observe  that  on  the  new  Ordnance 
of  1886  " Ephraim's  Pinch"  is  omitted. 
Can  it  be  that  the  surveyors  did  not  think 
the  name  worth  preserving  ?  Can  it  be  that 
Ephraim  and  his  pinch  are  forgotten  on  the 
moor  ?  Alas ! — time  with  her  waves  washes 
out  the  writing  on  the  sands.  May  my 
humble  pen  serve  to  preserve  the  memory 
of  Ephraim  and  his  Pinch, 


LITTLE   DIXIE 

THE  western  face  of  Dartmoor  stands  up 
boldly  from  the  green  rolling  surface  of  well- 
parked  and  pasture  land  on  the  limestone 
and  slate.  It  springs  into  the  air  very  much 
like  a  seventh  wave,  and  is  tossed  at  points 
into  serrated  masses  of  granite,  grey  or 
white,  as  though  the  crest  of  the  moor  like 
a  billow  had  broken  into  foam. 

Beyond  this  long  wave  lies  the  cloven 
valley  of  the  Tavy,  that  comes  down  from 
the  central  table-land  of  deep  and  fathomless 
bog,  the  great  reservoir  and  urn  whence  are 
spilled  the  Taw,  the  Tavy,  the  Ockment,  and 
the  Dart. 

The  great  Oriental  rivers,  Pison  that  com 
passed  the  land  where  was  much  gold, 
Gihon,  Hiddekel,  and  Euphrates,  flowed  out 
of  Paradise,  the  garden  of  all  delights,  but 
these  four  Occidental  rivers  issue  from  an 
utterly  desolate,  barren,  uninhabited  wilder- 


121 


122  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

ness,  which  is  visited  by  no  bird,  inhabited 
by  no  insect. 

The  four  great  Eastern  rivers  flowed  out 
of  Paradise  into  the  bare  world  without  the 
gates;  the  four  Western  streams  leap  out 
of  a  barren  wilderness  into  the  Garden  of 
England. 

Up  the  western  slope  of  the  great  wave 
sweeping  nearly  two  thousand  feet  into  the 
sky  is  a  subsidiary  wave  of  lesser  ranges 
rising  on  the  back  of  this  main  billow ;  and 
the  southernmost  of  these  is  called  Doe  Tor, 
on  the  maps,  originally  Daur  Tor,  the  Hill 
of  Waters,  for  the  rocky  mass  springs  out 
of  a  wide  stretch  of  bogs,  and  is  enfolded  by 
a  stream  that  dances  in  many  white  falls 
from  ledge  to  ledge  in  a  "goyle"  that  in 
remote  ages,  and  down  through  historic 
times  to  our  own,  has  been  "  streamed,"  that 
is  to  say,  turned  over  and  tossed  into  the  air, 
and  its  gravel  passed  through  water,  to  force 
the  granite  sand  and  pounded  crystalline 
rubble  to  deliver  up  its  tin. 

When  the  wind  blows  from  the  east,  then 
the  air  is  full  of  moaning,  for  it  tears  its  way 
through  the  rock  castles  and  crag  towers, 
the  granite  windows  and  unclosed  natural 
doors,  piping,  screaming,  sobbing,  muttering, 
growling — all  these  sounds  at  a  distance  are 


LITTLE   DIXIE  123 

combined  into  one  mighty  organ  note,  and 
far  away  to  the  west  "  the  Roar  of  the 
Moor"  is  audible. 

When  the  wind  is  in  the  east,  another 
phenomenon  becomes  noticeable  to  those  on 
the  cultivated  land  westward,  and  that  is 
"  the  Beam  of  the  Moor."  This  beam  con 
sists  of  a  broad  belt  of  fog,  greyish-brown, 
not  dense  in  texture,  nor  deep  in  colour.  It 
lies  behind  the  crests  of  the  great  upheaved 
wave,  it  spreads  above  them  in  vaporous 
streamers,  which  streamers  are  locally  called 
"the  Strome."  What  the  derivation  of 
Beam  is  is  not  quite  clear,  but  probably  it 
means  the  same  as  Bar.  It  is  perhaps  like 
the  great  oaken  bar  put  across  the  house-door 
in  olden  times,  and  verily  when  the  Beam 
lies  on  the  eastern  horizon,  the  door  of 
Dartmoor  is  shut.  One  thinks  more  than 
twice  before  ascending  its  flanks  and  facing 
the  raging  blast  that  is  sweeping,  nay  mow 
ing  the  great  upland  region,  as  with  a  scythe. 

Under  Doe  Tor  stands  a  farm.  A  few 
diminutive  firs  and  twisted  thorns  form  a 
shelter  on  one  side.  The  house  has 
shrugged  its  shoulders  and  drawn  in  its  head 
behind  turf  banks  and  moorstone  walls,  and 
cowers  under  the  shelter  of  the  dwarfed  trees. 

Above  it,  eastwards,  is  a  "clatter"  of  granite 


124  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

blocks,  a  chaos  of  large  and  small  rocks 
thrown  down  and  cast  about  by  the  last 
glacier  as  it  withdrew  from  the  moor,  ten 
thousand — twenty  thousand — any  number 
of  thousand  years  before  history  began. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  farm  are  green 
meadows.  The  streamers  in  ancient  times 
burrowed  in  the  water  threads  that  ran  down 
from  the  upland,  deepening  their  channels 
so  considerably  that  they  became  effectual 
drains.  Doe  Tor  Farm  stands  in  the  tongue 
of  land  between  two  such  converging  streams 
with  their  artificially  deepened  beds,  and  is 
thus  delivered  from  morass,  and  rendered  a 
dry,  pleasant  slope  that  catches  and  enjoys 
and  utilises  every  sunbeam  that  slides  over 
the  moor  flank. 

Hard  at  hand  is  a  brook  of  the  purest 
crystal  water.  Available  everywhere  are 
stones  to  be  piled  up  for  defence  against 
weather,  and  to  make  enclosures  for  cattle. 

Just  beyond  the  door  or  entrance  to  the 
tiny  court  before  the  farm  lies  an  octagonal 
mass  of  granite,  with  a  socket  sunk  in 
the  midst,  the  base  of  one  of  the  many 
rude  crosses  that  anciently  stood  on  the 
moor,  marking  ways,  serving  as  boundaries, 
and  often  as  places  for  prayer  to  moor- 
dwellers  when  weather  forbade  their 


LITTLE   DIXIE  125 

making    the    Sunday   and   festival  journey 
to  church. 

To  reach  Lydford,  the  nearest  village  with 
church,  might  have  been  risky  at  times,  for 
at  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  drained  into  by 
these  lateral  streams,  and  dripped  into 
leisurely  by  the  morasses,  flows  the  Lyd,  to 
be  crossed  by  stepping-stones,  and  these  only 
when  the  river  is  not  swollen  by  flood.  After 
a  heavy  downpour  the  stream  rises  very 
rapidly  and  comes  down  with  a  swirl,  cover 
ing  the  stones — on  such  occasions  they 
cannot  be  used. 

Over  a  long  shoulder  of  moor  lies  a  way 
to  another  farm  named  Redever,  in  a  situa 
tion  even  more  difficult  of  access.  The  writer 
remembers  some  twenty-five  years  ago  being 
there  and  giving  a  coin  to  one  of  the  wild 
shock-headed  children  that  ran  about  in  the 
kitchen.  The  child  looked  at  the  piece  of 
money,  turned  it  round,  and  rushed  to  her 
mother  to  ask  what  it  was.  It  was  the  first 
coin  of  the  realm  she  had  ever  seen. 

One  night  the  wind  was  in  the  east,  and  the 
moan  and  thunder  of  the  wind-tide  breaking 
against  and  over  the  serrated  crags  to  the 
east  of  Doe  Tor  was  almost  deafening ;  gusts 
came  hissing  among  the  stunted  spruce,  and 
beating  down  the  chimney  with  a  guffaw  like 


126  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

that  of  a  practical  joker,  delighted  to  be  able 
to  scatter  the  glowing  embers  over  the  stone 
floor.  By  the  fire  were  seated  Oliver 
Whiddon  and  his  wife,  and  a  little  back  in 
the  room,  rocking  his  chair,  a  young  man  of 
about  twenty,  an  intelligent  youth  with  open 
face,  and  a  look  of  decision  in  his  eyes  and 
mouth. 

This  was  "  Young  Oliver,"  the  only  son, 
indeed  the  only  child  of  the  farmer  and  his 
wife.  It  had  been  the  ambition  and  expecta 
tion  of  the  Whiddons  that  their  son  would 
succeed  to  the  farm,  after  having  served  them 
as  their  workman  for  an  indefinite  number  of 
years.  But  that  impetuosity  and  love  of 
change  which  characterises  the  Englishman, 
which  distinguishes  him  from  the  German 
and  the  Frenchman,  uprooted  young  Oliver 
very  speedily.  As  soon  as  he  was  able  to 
earn  money  for  himself  he  left  Doe  Tor  and 
went  to  Mary  Tavy,  where  mines  had  been 
opened  that  yielded  silver-lead  ;  and  he  be 
came  a  miner,  with  all  the  love  of  adventure 
and  of  speculation  inherent  in  the  miner. 
His  work  was  not  many  miles  distant  from 
the  paternal  home,  and  he  returned  every 
Saturday  to  Doe  Tor,  to  spend  his  Sunday 
with  his  parents,  but  not  to  spend  his  savings 
there,  as  Doe  Tor  was  precisely  the  place 


LITTLE   DIXIE  127 

where  it  would  be  impossible  to  get  rid  of 
money  otherwise  than  by  throwing  it  into 
the  morasses. 

He  was  a  quiet,  sober  youth,  very  shrewd, 
and  he  hoarded  his  earnings,  or  rather  gave 
them  to  his  mother  to  hoard  for  him. 

The  way  by  which  Oliver  the  younger 
returned   weekly  from  Mary  Tavy  was  by 
Redever.    His  walk  was  wholly  across  moors, 
past  the  cairns  raised   over  dead   heroes  at 
an  unknown  time,  and  across  ancient  lines 
of  enclosure,  when  made  no  one  could  tell, 
nor   by   whom   set   up.     Lines   so   ancient 
that  the  moss  and  peat  had   for  the  most 
part  swallowed  them,  and  they  became  dis 
tinguishable   only  in  the  slant  rays  of  the 
setting  sun.     Oliver  Junior  did  not  pass  a 
house  since  leaving  his  mine  till  he  came  to 
Redever.    There  he  was  on  high  ground,  not 
far   from   the   source   of    a   streamlet   that 
poured  its  liquid  light  over  a  granite  lip,  and 
spread  itself  over  the  path  or  track  to  the 
farm,  and  was  too  shallow  to  be  provided  with 
stepping-stones,  and  too  insignificant  to  be 
bridged. 

There,  usually  for  the  first  time  since  he 
left  his  mine,  did  he  hear  a  human  voice,  and 
that  was  one  quite  other  from  those  he  was 
accustomed  to  hear.  It  was  the  voice  of  a 


128  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

child  singing  over  her  work — singing,  shrill, 
clear,  with  a  twinkle  in  the  voice  and  a  bound 
in  the  tone,  so  full  of  life,  so  full  of  joy  that 
Oliver  felt  his  heart  dance  within  him  respon 
sive  to  the  song. 

Not  on  every  Saturday  afternoon  or  even 
ing  did  it  chance  to  Oliver  to  see  the  singer ; 
he  could  not  see  her  on  Monday  morning, 
for  then  he  left  his  home  before  daybreak. 

Oliver  always  listened  for  the  voice,  always 
looked  for  the  singer ;  and  that  was  a  plea 
sant  Saturday  evening  to  him  when  he  saw 
Little  Dixie — the  singer — filling  her  pitcher 
at  the  lip  of  the  stream,  or  coming  from  the 
turftye  with  her  arms  full  of  turves. 

Little  Dixie  was  the  only  child  of  Bartho 
lomew  Gloyne,  the  farmer  at  Redever.  She 
had  been  baptized  Dionysia,  but  her  father, 
every  one  who  knew  her,  considered  that 
Dionysia  was  too  much  of  a  name  for  such 
a  mite  of  a  child,  and  she  was  called  Little 
Dixie  by  her  father,  and  by  such  persons  as 
knew  of  her  existence.  The  dog  knew  her 
by  no  other  name.  When  her  father  said, 
"  Go  to  Dixie,"  he  ran  to  her,  fawned  and 
licked  her  face  and  hands.  The  fowls  seemed 
to  know  her  by  that  name — for  when  she 
brought  them  grain,  she  called  to  them, 
"  Here  be  Dixie  and  your  meat !  "  The  pig 


LITTLE   DIXIE  129 

knew  her  by  that  name.  When  she  carried 
the  sow  her  pail  of  wash,  it  was  the  child's 
sport  to  knock  at  the  sty  door  and  call, 
"  Who  is  here  come  ? "  No  answer.  "  Be  it 
Mr.  Gloyne  ?  "  No  answer.  "  Be  it  James 
Perkin  ? " — that  was  the  name  of  the  only 
labourer  retained  at  Redever.  No  answer. 
"  Be  it  your  own  dear  Little  Dixie  ?  " 
"  Umph !  "  grunted  the  pig ;  whereupon  the 
sty  door  was  thrown  open  and  the  contents 
of  the  pail  poured  forth. 

Rarely,  most  rarely,  did  Oliver  have  the 
chance  of  a  word  with  Little  Dixie. 

Dixie  was  an  active  child.  Her  mother 
had  died  when  she  was  seven.  Since  then 
she  had  been  the  only  woman  in  Redever. 
She  did  everything  for  her  father.  She 
mended  his  garments,  she  knitted  his  hose. 
She  washed  the  household  linen ;  she  cooked 
the  dinner.  She  never  lighted  the  fire,  for  on 
the  moor  the  fire  is  never  let  go  out.  The 
writer  knows  one  fire  that,  it  is  boasted,  has 
burnt  for  over  a  hundred  years,  without 
having  been  extinguished  and  relaid. 

On  the  raw,  blustering  night  of  our  slight 
tale,  the  old  folk  were  toasting  their  noses 
and  knees  over  the  peat  fire,  and  the  son  was 
swinging  in  the  chair.  He  was  thinking. 
That  same  day  as  he  returned  past  Redever, 


130  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

he  had  heard  a  strange  voice,  a  voice  harsh, 
denunciatory,  and  with  neither  elasticity,  nor 
sparkle,  nor  youth  in  it.  It  was  not  engaged 
in  singing,  but  in  scolding. 

"  I  reckon  Gloyne  he's  been  gwan  and 
took  a  maidservant/'  said  Oliver. 

And  now  as  he  rocked,  he  mused.  Whom 
could  that  maid  have  been  scolding  ?  Could 
it  have  been  James  Perkin  ?  No ;  he  had 
seen  James  going  after  the  sheep.  Surely  no 
servant  would  scold  Little  Dixie?  Who 
could  the  owner  of  that  voice  have  been  ? 
And  whom  could  she  have  been  letting  out 
at? 

As  these  questions  turned  in  Oliver's  mind, 
the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  in  the  entrance 
stood — Little  Dixie. 

The  wind  rushed  into  the  room  and  threw 
the  embers  into  a  white  glare. 

"  I  wish  to  know,"  said  the  girl,  "  be  you 
a- want  in'  to  have  a  maid  ? " 

"  What  —  Dixie  !  come  in,"  called  old 
Oliver,  and  young  Oliver  thrust  back  his 
chair  in  amazement. 

u  Aye,  I  be  Dixie  sure-ly,  and  I  want  to 
know,  be  you  lookin'  out  for  a  maid  ? " 

"A  maid?" 

"  Yes ;  vayther's  gone  and  made  a  mess 
of  hisself,  and  so  I've  corned  away." 


LITTLE   DIXIE  131 

u  Made  a  mess  of  hisself — your  father  ?  " 

"Terrible,"  said  Dixie.  "He's  gwan  and 
married  again.  It's  shameful,  and  me  kept 
his  house  for  'n  since  I  wor  seven,  that's  seven 
years  agone.  All  these  seven  years  I've 
washed,  and  baked,  and  kept  all  vitty,  and 
fed  the  pig  and  done  everything  for  X  and 
now  he's  gwan  and  done  this  shameful — and 
made  a  mess  of  hisself." 

"Have  you  left  home?"  asked  Mrs. 
Whiddon. 

"  I  reckon  I've  been  turned  out,"  answered 
Little  Dixie.  "Thicky  old  cat  my  vayther 
hev  a-brought  home — meaning  my  mother 
as  he  calls  her — but  she  bain't  no  mother  to 
me, — her  and  I  don't  agree.  Her  wants  to 
take  the  washing,  and  the  pigging,  and  the 
cowing,  and  the  cooking,  and  the  baking, 
and  the  turving  out  o'  my  hands — and  I  sed, 
sed  I — I  wouldn't  stand  it.  I've  washed  and 
baked  and  pigged  for  my  father  these  seven 
years — ever  sin'  mother  died,  and  I  won't 
hev  no  alteration.  So  her  just  took  me  by 
the  shoulders  and  dra'ed  me  out  over  the 
drexle  (threshold)." 

Little  Dixie  drew  nearer  the  fire.  "  And 
now  I  sees  it's  all  up  at  home  ;  so  what  I 
wants  to  know  is,  do'y  wish  to  have  a  maid  ? 
and  what's  your  wages  ?  " 


132  DARTMOOR  IDYLLS 

"  But  what  does  your  father  say  ?  " 

"  Say !  Poor  old  man.  He  can't  say 
nothink.  He  sits  and  cries  and  wipes  his 
nose — 'tis  piteous  to  behold,  and  he  be 
gettin'  the  end  o1  his  nose  quite  raw  wi' 
wipin' — he's  cried  such  a  lot,  because  this 
here  cat  o'  a  wife  o'  his  lets  on  at  me  so. 
There's  nothing  like  a  little  scald  cream  for 
a  sore  nose,"  added  Dixie,  confidentially. 
"  Now,  do'y  want  a  maid  ?  and  what's  your 
wages  ? " 

The  child  was  but  fourteen.  She  hardly 
looked  that,  so  fair  was  she,  so  silver  silken- 
white  was  her  hair,  so  open  and  blue 
were  her  eyes,  so  wholly  childlike  was  her 
form. 

Then  young  Oliver  started  up. 

"  Little  Dixie  !  "  he  said.  "  If  you  stay 
here  will  you  sing  ?  " 

"I  reckon  I  shall.  I  always  did  sing  till 
that  woman  came." 

He  ran  to  a  box,  threw  it  open,  pulled 
out  a  little  sack  in  which  jingled  coin,  and 
tossed  it  into  Dixie's  arms.  "  There,"  said 
he,  tc  take  of  it  what  you  will.  You  stay 
here — work  and  sing  for  father  and  mother, 
till — in  three  years  I  bid  you  work  and  sing 
for  me." 

At   that   moment,  in   at   the   door  came 


LITTLE  DIXIE  133 

Bartholomew  Gloyne.  He  looked  about 
him  and  said — "  There  you  are,  Dixie. 
Come  back.  I  have  run  after  you.  My 
wife  didn't  mean  it.  She  did  not  intend  to 
turn  you  out  of  the  house.  Only,  you 
know,  her  must  be  top  and  leader  in  all,  and 
can't  let  you,  a  child,  do  what  you  likes." 

"Vayther,"  said  the  girl,  "her  turned 
me  out  and  called  me  bad  names." 

"  Her  did  not  intend  you  to  go,  but  you 
must  come  back  now  with  I." 

"  I  am  not  coming  back." 

"  My  wife — her  said  I  was  to  force  you." 

"  I  won  t  be  forced." 

"But  I  am  your  father — I  beg  and  pray 
you  to  come.  Didn't  you  work  for  me,  and 
tend  me,  and  care  for  all  my  linen  and  meat 
ever  since  your  mother's  death  r " 

"  I  know  I  did." 

"Well,  and  how  can  you  have  the  heart 
to  leave  me  now  ?  " 

"  Vayther,  you  should  ha'  thought  o'  that 
afore  you  went  and  made  a  mess  o'  yourself. 
Now  it's  done.  I  reckon  you  promised  to 
honour  and  obey." 

"  I  reckon  I  did  som'ut  o'  the  kind." 

"  Well,  you  must  go  back,  then,  to  she. 
You  can't  turn  she  out  o'  the  door,  as  her 
turned  I." 


134  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

"  No ;  I  s'pose  I  can't.  But  you  should 
consider  me." 

"  It's  you,  father,  as  ort  to  ha'  considered 
I  afore  you  went  to  church  wi'  she.  I 
won'ner  now  you  warn't  ashamed  to  do 
it !  " 

Then  Oliver  Whiddon  the  younger 
stepped  forward,  and  slapped  the  forlorn  and 
perplexed  man  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Look  here,  guv'nor,"  said  he,  "  the 
little  maid  has  come  here  and  axed  father 
and  mother  to  take  she  as  their  servant,  and 
they  hev  agreed  for  three  years.  And  after 
that — I've  axed  she  to  come  and  keep  house 
for  me,  and  sing  and  work  for  me,  and  make 
me  happy." 

"So,  father,"  said  Little  Dixie,  with  a 
curtsey,  "  you  see — I'm  engaged." 

The  man  looked  disconsolately  at  his 
child. 

"  And,  father,"  she  continued,  showing  the 
bag,  "  here's  my  wage." 

The  string  became  relaxed,  unbound,  and 
the  money — all  in  silver — the  savings  of 
three  years,  poured  forth  in  a  glittering 
stream  over  the  floor. 

"  Lawk ! "  said  Gloyne,  putting  his  hand 
to  his  head,  "  I  didn't  know  your  vally  till 
now,  and  now  I've  lost  you." 


LITTLE   DIXIE  135 

i(  But  I  have  known  it  for  long,"  said 
Oliver  ;  "  and  a  right  wit  has  brought  Little 
Dixie  from  one  who  couldn't  value  her  to 
one  who — sweep  up  all  that  silver — knows 
that  she  is  priceless." 


JONAS   COAKER 

ALMOST  in  the  centre  of  Dartmoor  is  a 
singular  depression.  The  hills  fall  away 
from  all  sides  towards  what  seems  to  have 
been,  at  a  vastly  remote  period,  the  bed  of  a 
lake.  Nevertheless  there  is  a  fissure — a 
valley  to  the  south  through  which  the  Dart, 
that  traverses  this  basin,  has  sawn  its  way. 
It  has  had  to  rasp  its  bed  through  a  dyke  of 
rock  just  above  that  same  Snaily  House 
which  has  been  already  described,  and  till 
that  dyke  was  sawn  through,  the  basin  was 
occupied  by  a  sheet  of  rippling  water. 
Now,  however,  that  trough  is  encroached  on 
by  farms  and  fields,  a  tavern,  a  church,  a 
Dissenting  chapel,  and  a  pair  of  grand 
porter's  lodges,  one  on  each  side  of  a  gate — 
leading  to  nowhere.  •  In  the  time  of  the 
Prince  Regent,  great  and  chimerical  ideas  of 
the  importance  of  Dartmoor  filled  certain 
heads,  and  a  certain  Squire  Hullett  resolved 


138  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

on  building  himself  a  stately  mansion  some 
mile  or  two  up  this  basin,  and  began  by 
planting  a  strip  of  beech  beside  the  road, 
and  by  constructing  two  porters'  lodges. 
Nothing  further  was  done ;  even  the  road 
up  to  the  site  on  which  his  mansion  was  to 
rise  was  not  made ;  and  now  no  one  knows 
exactly  where  that  site  was  to  be. 

There  is  one  very  interesting  feature  in 
this  basin  in  the  midst  of  the  moors.  It  is 
traversed  from  east  to  west  by  three  roads, 
all  belonging  to  different  epochs  of 
civilisation. 

First  of  all,  there  runs  athwart  it  a 
paved  causeway,  that  crosses  Dartmoor  from 
Tavistock  to  Bovey,  and  was  in  connection 
with  the  Fosse  Way,  that  great  diagonal  line 
of  communication  between  Cornwall  and 
Exeter,  to  Lincoln,  and  thence  by  Doncaster 
to  York,  and  so  northwards.  It  was  older 
than  the  Roman  domination.  It  can  be 
distinctly  seen  on  Dartmoor,  and  a  section 
at  Post  Bridge,  where  it  is  now  in  process 
of  being  demolished  for  the  building  of  a 
wall.  It  is  about  six  feet  wide,  and  is  paved 
in  an  arc,  the  pavement  laid  on  a  bed  of 
smaller  stones. 

Next  comes  a  road  of  a  different  kind, 
un paved,  of  no  construction  whatever,  cut 


JONAS   COAKER  139 

by  the  hoofs  of  the  pack-horses  that  tra 
velled  over  it  throughout  the  Middle  Ages, 
and  looking  like  a  trench  drawn  by  a  huge 
plough  in  the  face  of  the  moor.  That  old 
pack-horse  road  is  as  completely  disused 
now  as  is  the  old  paved  causeway. 

Thirdly,  we  have  the  macadamised  high 
way  maintained  by  the  County  Council, 
smooth  as  a  bowling-green,  drawn  out  over 
the  face  of  the  moor  like  an  unrolled 
measuring-tape. 

But  the  existence  of  these  three  roads  is 
not  all  that  is  interesting  in  this  basin. 

The  hills  around  are,  and  were  still  more 
so,  crowded  with  the  remains  of  prehistoric 
peoples.  Every  slope  was  occupied  by  a 
village,  surrounded  by  a  ring  of  wall. 
Every  height  is  crowned  by  the  cairns  and 
the  rude  stone  coffins  or  kistvaens  of  their 
dead.  In  almost  every  field,  along  almost 
every  track-way,  may  be  picked  up  their 
flint  chips,  scrapers,  and  arrow-heads. 

Now  many  of  these  ancient  settlements 
have  been  converted  into  plantations  or  fields, 
modern  walls  have  been  constructed  out  of 
the  ruined  bee-hive  huts,  on  top  of  the 
ancient  outer  wall  of  defence.  Nevertheless, 
a  great  number  of  these  remains  still  cover 
the  sides  of  the  hills ;  and  a  word  on  those 


140  DARTMOOR    IDYLLS 

who  occupied  such  villages  will  not  here 
come  amiss. 

It  may  be  premised  that  every  sort  of 
theory  has  been  propounded  relative  to  these 
clusters  of  circular  huts.  They  were  shelters 
from  wolves ;  they  were  pounds  for  sheep ; 
they  were  the  habitations  of  tin  miners. 
They  were  Druidical  circles ;  they  were 
imitations  of  the  constellations,  forming 
temples  for  sidereal  worship;  they  were 
mediaeval  miners'  cottages,  they  are  compara 
tively  modern  hovels. 

The  earth  is  the  great  book  of  reference 
for  history.  It  must  be  turned  over  before 
history  can  be  read.  Theories  are  mere  air 
till  established  by  the  pick  and  shovel. 
Now  pick  and  shovel  have  been  employed 
on  these  villages  of  bee-hive  huts,  and  they 
have  revealed  something  quite  unexpected 
• — that  there  dwelt  on  Dartmoor  at  a  vastly 
remote  epoch,  before  the  written  history  of 
Great  Britain  begins,  an  extremely  rude 
population  in  extraordinary  numbers,  living 
in  the  most  savage  manner,  without  the  know 
ledge  of  metals,  and  with  very  little,  and  that 
very  rude,  pottery.  In  the  centre  of  each  hut 
was  the  fire.  The  door,  always  to  the  south, 
was  so  low  that  the  hovel  had  to  be  entered 
on  all  fours.  A  segment  of  the  circular  hut 


JONAS   COAKER  141 

on  the  higher  side  was  raised  as  a  dais  or 
platform,  with  curb-stones,  and  was  bedded 
with  heather  and  rush,  to  form  a  seat  by  day 
and  serve  as  a  couch  by  night.  All  baking 
and  roasting  was  done  in  the  same  manner  as 
Catlin  describes  as  among  the  Assiniboyne 
Indians.  A  hole  was  dug  in  the  clay  floor  a 
foot  or  eighteen  inches  deep ;  this  was  the 
oven.  Into  it  smooth  pebbles  from  the  river 
heated  red-hot  were  put,  along  with  the  meat 
to  be  roasted.  If  water  had  to  be  boiled,  a 
skin  was  made  to  line  the  hole ;  this  was  filled 
with  water,  and  then  the  red-hot  stones  were 
thrown  into  it.  Bed-places,  hearth-stones, 
roasting-holes,  roasters,  remain  where  left 
thousands  of  years  ago,  before  that  Caesar 
had  crossed  into  Britain,  aye,  and  before  the 
Britons  had  come  over  and  occupied  our  isle. 
Rising  out  of  the  marsh — once  a  lake — is 
a  gravelly  margin,  and  there  this  ancient 
people  sat  chipping  flints  brought  from  afar, 
to  shape  them  into  arrow-heads  and  scrapers, 
the  latter  for  the  dressing  of  the  skins  in 
which  they  clothed  themselves.  And  there, 
where  they  formed  their  tools,  perhaps  three 
thousand  years  before  the  history  of  our 
isle  begins,  may  be  gathered  their  broken 
tools  and  the  chips  of  flint  they  cast  aside  as 
unprofitable. 


142  DARTMOOR    IDYLLS 

On  a  gentle  incline  descending  towards 
the  marsh  is  a  singular  circle  of  trees,  sur 
rounded  by  a  wall ;  this  enclosure  goes  by 
the  name  of  Ring  Hill.      It  is,  in  fact,  an 
old  walled  village   that   has    had   the    huts 
within  the  wall  destroyed.     The  stones  from 
these    primeval   bee-hive   habitations    have 
been    removed   and   utilised    for   the    con 
struction   of  a  quaint  little  farmstead,  en 
closed  within  rectangular  walls  to  screen  its 
windows  and  door  from  the  hurricane  and 
snow  and   hail.     There  has  been  a  sort  of 
attempt  at  picturesqueness  in  the  little  habit 
ation,  for  it  has  been  given  pointed  windows. 
The    court-yard  is  paved   with  great  slabs 
of  granite,  the  sheds  are  buttressed  with  long 
posts  of  the  same  material  laid  at  an  incline 
to   prop   up    the   mortarless   walls.       Very 
white  geese  waddle  about,  dip  their  yellow 
bills  into  the  water  that  occupies  a  trough 
dug    out   of    a   huge   granite   block.     The 
white   and    crimson   saxifrage   has   made   a 
home  of  the  walls,  and  rooted  itself  in  every 
fissure  between  the  stones,  and  the   yellow 
stonecrop  shows  as  a  mass  of  sunshine  on  the 
roof.     A  rowan,  or  as  it  is  called  in  Devon 
a  witch-beam,  grows   near  the  cottage,  so 
also  a  sycamore. 

There  is  no  road  to  this  little  farm,  hardly 


JONAS   COAKER  143 

a  path.  To  reach  it  one  must  wade  through 
water,  and  skip  from  tuft  of  rush  to  hum 
mock  of  grass  in  the  watery  morass  that  in 
tervenes  between  the  road  and  the  farm,  a 
distance  of  half-a-mile. 

On  the  way  one  stops  to  pick  the  poten- 
tilla  that  the  goose  loves  so  well,  to  dis 
entangle  the  pink  smothering  bind-weed 
from  the  gorse-bush  it  is  strangling,  to  look 
for  the  nest  of  the  ring-ousel  that  we  have 
started.  But  should  the  time  be  winter, 
then  the  marsh  is  scarce  less  glorious  in 
colour  than  in  summer.  The  mosses  run 
the  change  from  green  to  crimson,  to  gold, 
to  snow-white ;  the  surface  is  one  wondrous 
carpet  shot  with  the  most  varied  and  yet 
harmonious  colours. 

In  Ring  Hill  homestead  lived  for  some 
years  a  remarkable  man,  named  Jonas  Coaker, 
and  there  he  died  in  February  1890. 

I  visited  him  in  1888.  He  was  born  in 
1 80 1,  so  that  he  had  almost  reached  his 
eighty-ninth  year  when  he  died.  For  some 
time  he  had  been  stone  blind,  and  he  was 
tended  by  an  old  woman  who  kept  house 
for  him.  He  was  very  poor,  but  patient, 
gentle,  and  uncomplaining. 

When  I  saw  him,  he  had  but  just  been 
got  down-stairs,  and  the  old  man  was  seated 


144  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

in  an  ancient  leathern,  high-backed  chair. 
The  light  from  the  little  window  illumined 
his  pale,  finely-cut,  intelligent  face,  which 
must  have  been  handsome  when  he  was 
young,  and  when  the  soul  could  look  out  of 
the  windows,  and  when  the  teeth  had  not 
fallen  from  the  gums.  Now  the  golden 
bowl  was  cracked,  and  the  daughters  of 
music  were  low,  and  the  pitcher  broken  at 
the  fountain. 

Jonas  was  considered,  and  considered  him 
self,  to  be  a  poet.  Alas !  some  persons  con 
ceive  themselves  to  be  inspired  with  the 
divine  spirit  of  poesy  if  they  can  make  cow 
rhyme  with  bow-wow,  and  kitchen  with  pitch 
ing.  Jonas,  it  must  be  admitted,  was  a 
sorry  poet,  really  was  no  better  than  an  indif 
ferent  rhymster.  Of  poetic  fire,  of  imagin 
ation,  he  had  none,  but  he  could  knock  lines 
together  that  jingled  like  horse-bells,  and 
these  pleased  the  unexacting  ears  of  the 
moorland  men. 

Some  years  ago,  Dartmoor  was  chosen  as 
a  field  for  military  operations.  Troops  were 
sent  down  to  camp  on  the  moor,  and  there 
execute  manoeuvres,  and  conduct  sham 
fights. 

It  was  an  unfortunate  experiment.  That 
year  happened  to  be  one  of  extraordinary 


JONAS   COAKER  145 

wet.  The  troops  arrived,  camps  were 
formed,  tents  pitched,  all  was  prepared, 
when  the  rain  descended,  the  windows  of 
heaven  were  opened  and  forgotten  to  be  shut 
again  all  that  summer. 

The  horses  floundered  in  bogs.  The  men 
were  drenched  to  the  bone ;  accoutrements 
became  sodden,  boots  resolved  themselves 
into  pulp,  weapons  became  rusty,  gunpowder 
would  not  ignite,  tempers  waxed  ferocious. 

On  this  occasion  Jonas  Coaker  printed  a 
number  of  his  "  poems,"  and  went  about 
among  officers  and  privates  selling  them. 
The  cost  was  but  trifling,  and  he  realised 
a  comfortable  sum.  Owing  to  the  never- 
ceasing  rain,  the  soldiers  had  nothing  to  do 
but  sit  in  their  tents  swearing ;  and  Jonas 
Coaker's  effusions  were  gladly  purchased 
and  even  read,  because  there  was  nothing 
else  to  be  got,  in  mid-moor,  in  mid-down 
pour. 

On  that  occasion  a  company  of  High 
landers  had  a  bad  experience.  Farmers' 
wives  and  daughters  came  to  the  camp 
offering  Devonshire  cream.  The  High 
landers  eagerly  purchased,  and  considering 
what  they  purchased  to  be  mere  curd,  each 
man  consumed  as  much  cream  at  a  sitting 
as  if  it  were  broase  or  curd.  The  consequence 


146  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

was  that  the  whole  company  was  down  with 
a  bilious  attack,  and  the  surgeon  had  to  dose 
the  entire  kilted  body  of  warriors  with  blue 
pill.  Racked  with  headache,  with  yellow 
faces  and  orange-coated  tongues,  the  Sawny 
brothers  languidly  cast  their  pennies  to 
Jonas,  and  bought  his  poems,  and  read  them 
only  because  too  racked  with  bile  to  be  able 
to  read  anything  else,  nor  were  they  in  a 
condition  to  appreciate  the  merits  or  demerits 
of  what  they  read. 

When  I  visited  the  old  blind  "  poet " — let 
us  call  him  jongleur,  or  jingler  of  rhymes — 
I  was  collecting  the  folk  ballads  and  songs 
of  the  West  of  England.  I  found  his  mem 
ory  stocked  rather  with  his  own  productions 
than  with  traditional  minstrelsy.  However, 
he  was  able  to  give  me  a  couple  of  ancient 
ballads ;  one  was  only  recollected  because  he 
had  recomposed  it,  and  was  proud  to  recite 
the  original  and  place  his  own  performance 
beside  it  for  comparison.  The  alchymist 
turned  base  metal  into  gold.  Alas  !  in  this 
case  it  was  the  fine  gold  resolved  into  mere 
dross.  One  ballad,  however,  he  had  not  re 
written,  and  very  interesting  it  was.  It  re 
lated  to  the  Commonwealth,  and  the  exclusion 
of  organ  and  musical  instruments  from  the 
service  of  God.  I  was  able  also  to  recover 


JONAS   COAKER  147 

the  melody  to  which  it  was  sung,  and  that 
was  of  the  same  date.  The  ballad  began — 

"All  ye  that  love  to  hear 
Music  performed  in  air, 
Pray  listen,  and  give  ear 

To  what  I  shall  perpend. 
Concerning  music,  who'd — 
If  rightly  understood — 
Not  find  'twould  do  him  good 

To  hearken  and  attend." 

It  proceeds  to  extol  the  church  music  and 
church  musicians  of  Brixham,  and  then  to 
relate  how  a  new  minister 

"  In  office  and  in  gown 
Strove  to  put  singing  down." 

Then  the  ballad  writer  goes  on  to  argue  with 
this  new-light  divine — 

"  Go  question  Holy  Writ, 
And  you  will  find  in  it, 
That  seemly  'tis  and  fit, 

To  praise  and  hymn  the  Lord, 
On  cymbal  and  on  lute, 
On  organ  and  on  flute, 
With  voices  sweet,  that  suit, 
All  in  a  fair  concord. 

"  In  Samuel  you  may  read 
How  one  was  troubled, 
Was  troubled  indeed, 

Who  crown  and  sceptre  bore ; 
An  evil  spirit  lay 
On  his  mind  both  night  and  day, 
That  would  not  go  away, 
And  vexed  him  very  sore." 


148  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

The  ballad  writer  proceeds  to  relate  how 
that  Saul  was  advised  to  send  for  the  son 
of  Jesse — 

"  Now  when  that  David,  he 
King  Saul  had  come  to  see, 
And  played  merrily 

Upon  his  stringed  harp, 
The  devil  all  in  speed, 
With  music  ill  agreed, 
From  Saul,  the  King,  he  fleed, 

Impatient  to  depart. 

"  Now  there  be  creatures  three, 
As  you  may  plainly  see, 
With  music  can't  agree 

Upon  this  pleasant  earth, 
The  swine,  the  fool,  the  ass, 
And  so — we  let  it  pass, 
And  sing,  O  Lord,  Thy  praise 

The  while  that  we  have  breath." 

The  self-laudation  of  the  minstrels,  their 
placing  themselves  on  so  high  a  pedestal, 
and  the  kick  over  of  the  preacher  who  does 
not  value  their  performance  into  company 
with  the  Devil,  the  swine,  and  the  ass,  is 
vastly  droll,  and  perhaps  not  a  little  charac 
teristic  of  village  musicians  all  Christendom 
through. 

Jonas  Coaker  was  at  one  time  landlord  of 
"The  Warren  Inn,"  said  to  be  the  loftiest 
situated  road-side  tavern  in  England.  It 
stood  on  a  piece  of  land  which  the  owner 
regarded  as  his  property  through  the  right 


JONAS   COAKER  149 

of  squatting.  It  had  this  disadvantage,  that 
it  stood  on  the  south  side  of  the  road,  and 
was  somewhat  cheerless,  facing  the  bluster 
ing  northern  gales,  and  with  the  sun  never 
entering  the  rooms.  Unhappily,  a  fire  broke 
out,  and  the  tavern  was  burnt  down.  The 
landlord  determined  to  take  advantage  of 
the  catastrophe,  and  rebuild  in  a  more  con 
genial  situation,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
highway. 

Masons,  plasterers,  carpenters,  hod-men 
worked  away,  and  the  proprietor  had  pretty 
well  expended  all  his  hard-earned  savings  on 
the  new  house,  when  just  as  the  last  slate 
was  nailed  on,  the  Duchy  of  Cornwall 
agent  came  down  on  him,  and  said,  "  Now 
you  are  on  Duchy  land  you  shall  pay  rent 
for  the  inn  you  have  built  on  our  land  with 
out  our  gracious  permission." 

The  old  "  Warren  Inn  "  was  the  scene  of 
the  well-known  gruesome  story  of  the  be 
nighted  traveller  who  was  taken  in  one 
snowy  winter  evening  and  placed  in  a  bed 
room  where  was  an  oak  chest.  During  the 
night  he  woke,  the  moon  shone  in  at  the 
little  casement  on  the  chest.  It  had  dis 
persed  the  clouds.  His  imagination  began 
to  work.  He  was  uneasy  as  to  this  chest ; 
he  got  out  of  bed  and  crept  to  it,  threw  up 


ISO  DARTMOOR    IDYLLS 

the  lid,  and  saw  a  dead  man  in  it.  Of  course, 
no  more  sleep  for  him  that  night.  Next 
morning  he  came  down  to  his  breakfast  off 
a  rasher  of  salt  bacon,  and  eyed  the  cheery 
host  and  hostess  with  some  suspicion.  At 
last  he  ventured  to  mention  what  he  had  seen. 

"Oh!"  said  the  hostess,  "it's  only  old 
vayther.  The  frost  be  that  hard,  the  snow 
that  deep,  us  can't  carr'n  yet  awhile  to 
Lydford  churchyard  to  bury  'n,  so  us  has 
salted  'n  in." 

The  traveller  pushed  from  him  his  plate 
with  the  rasher  untouched. 

Jonas  Coaker  had  a  somewhat  lively  time 
when  landlord,  for  at  that  period  the 
Vitifer  tin  mines  near  at  hand  were  in  full 
work,  and  the  miners  came  there  to  drink 
and  dance  and  brawl. 

On  one  occasion  when  he  .refused  to  hand 
out  more  liquor,  because  his  customers 
were  becoming  unruly,  they  combined 
against  him,  drove  him  from  his  own  door, 
broached  his  barrels,  and  drank  themselves 
dead  drunk.  Jonas  was  constrained,  as  he 
termed  it,  to  play  "  hidey  peep "  on  the 
moor  so  long  as  this  turbulent  crew  held 
his  premises,  which  they  did  till  they  had 
drained  the  last  drop  from  his  barrels  and 
emptied  all  his  bottles. 


JONAS   COAKER  151 

Then  sobriety  necessarily  returned,  and 
the  miners  felt  they  had  gone  too  far.  They 
went  back  to  their  work,  and  Jonas  estimated 
what  his  loss  had  been,  of  course  with  a 
margin  on  his  side,  and  they  paid  for  their 
spree  according  to  his  valuation,  which  they 
were  unable  to  check. 

Jonas  had  long  legs,  a  fine  physique,  and 
lungs  like  blacksmith's  bellows.  On  one 
occasion  he  ran  from  Post  Bridge  to  Exeter, 
a  distance  of  twenty  miles,  up  hill  and  down 
dale,  without  halt,  in  a  little  over  four  hours. 
He  was  then  aged  thirty. 

His  last  occupation  was  rate  collector  for 
the  parish  of  Lydford,  the  largest  parish  in 
England,  that  comprises  within  its  bounds 
the  major  portion  of  Dartmoor,  in  fact 
nearly  57,000  acres. 

Towards  the  end  of  his  life  the  old  man's 
mind  was  concerned  with  but  one  care — 

"  Oh  dear  life !  whativer  shall  I  do  wi' 
myself  when  I'm  dead  ? " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Jonas  ?  " 

"  I've  no  relations — no  wife,  no  sons,  no 
daughters,  and  I'm  desperate  poor.  Lawk- 
a-dear  life !  whativer  shall  I  do  wi'  myself 
when  dead  ? " 

A  kind  neighbour  tried  to  reassure  him. 

"  Jonas,  doan't'y  be  terrified  over  thickey 


152  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

trouble.  I'll  see  to'y  that  you  be  put 
away  in  Widecombe  churchyard  all  vitty 
(suitably)." 

"  Thank'y,  Cap'n  "  —  he  addressed  the 
overseer  of  a  mine  on  the  moor  not  far 
distant,  and  such  a  person  is  always  entitled 
"  Captain." 

"Thank'y,  Cap'n.  That's  very  kind  of 
you.  But  how  will'y  get  the  men  to  carr' 
me?" 

"There  be  men  to  Hexworthy  mine." 

"  I  reckon  there  be — let  me  see  ;  "  then  he 
began  to  count  on  his  fingers  how  many 
miners  were  there.  "You  see,  Cap'n,  it's 
not  that  I  be  such  a  powerful  weight,  but  it's 
a  cruel  long  way  to  Widecombe.  I  must 
have  for  sure  sartain  a  change  o'  bearers." 
He  considered  a  while.  "  You  see,  Cap'n,  I 
can't  ease  'em.  I'd  walk  part  o'  the  way  to 
ease  'n  if  I  could.  But  I  can't.  Oh  dear 
life !  whativer  shall  I  do  wi'  myself  when 
dead  ? " 

"  I  assure  you  I  will  find  you  plenty  of 
bearers." 

"That's  very  kind  o'  you.  But  what  if 
you  be  away  on  business  when  I  die — 
whativer  shall  I  do  wi'  myself  then  ? " 

"I'll  tell  my  missus  to  send  a  man  on 
horseback  to  the  nighest  telegraph-office  and 


JONAS   COAKER  153 

wire  right  off  on  end  to  me,  and  I'll  come,  I 
promise  you,  and  leave  my  business  so  as 
to  attend  to  you." 

"That's  uncommon  kind  o'  you,"  said 
Jonas,  "and  I  thank'y  gratefully  for  the 
same ;  but  supposing  that  the  horse  should 
cast  a  shoe — then,  whativer  shall  I  do  wi' 
myself?  " 

"  There  is  Will  Fry  can  shoe  the  horse." 

"But  Will,  he  gets  a  drop  too  much 
occasionally.  What  a  pretty  job  it  would 
be  if  Will  Fry  were  fresh,  and  ran  the  nail 
into  the  frog  and  lamed  your  horse — and  all 
along  o*  me.  Whativer  should  I  do  wi' 
myself  then?" 

"  You  need  not  trouble  yourself  about 
that,  Jonas.  The  licence  has  been  with 
drawn  from  the  inn,  and  it  has  now  changed 
hands  and  has  become  a  temperance  hotel, 
so  that  Will  cannot  get  drink  there  even  if 
he  desire  it." 

"  That's  a  great  comfort  to  me  to  think  it. 
But,  then,  doan't'y  fancy  Will  Fry  might  be 
that  sulky  and  pervarse  all  along  of  not 
gettin'  his  drink  that  he  might  refuse  to  shoe 
the  horse  ? " 

"Then,  Jonas,  my  horse  shall  go  without 
his  shoe."  * 

"Thank'y,  Cap'n ;  it  is  very  good  o'  you 


154  DARTMOOR    IDYLLS 

to  say  so,  and  no  doubt  you  mean  it  kind. 
But  if  your  horse  fell  lame  on  the  road — 
whativer  should  I  do  wi'  myself  then  ?  " 

So  he  fretted — there  was  no  relieving  his 
concern ;  a  fresh  difficulty  continued  to  start 
up  as  soon  as  an  old  one  was  laid.  In  his 
humble  mind  he  supposed  that  no  one  could 
care  sufficiently  for  him  to  give  up  a  day's 
work  to  assist  at  his  burying ;  and  he  had 
absolutely  nothing  of  his  own  to  leave,  to  pay 
for  his  funeral.  After  a  friend  had  done  every 
thing  to  satisfy  his  scruples,  he  would  put 
his  hand  to  his  white  eyes,  wipe  the  tear  that 
trickled  down  his  withered  cheek,  and  recur 
to  the  same  difficulty.  "When  I'm  dead, 
whativer  shall  I  do  wi'  myself  ?  " 

At  last  the  dreaded  day  came;  not  the 
day  of  death — to  that  he  had  looked  forward, 
not  with  blind  eyes,  but  with  eyes  that  saw 
through  darkness  into  the  unspeakable  light 
beyond — but  the  day  of  burial,  and  all  the 
moorside  turned  out  to  do  honour  to  the 
kindly,  good  old  poet.  The  day  was  Sunday, 
the  1 6th  February,  1890.  A  frost  was  on 
the  short  turf,  the  sky  was  clear.  The  miners 
from  Hexworthy  were  at  Ring  Hill  in  their 
best  black  ;  and  away  over  the  moors  in 
the  glitter  of  the  sun  on  the  sparkling,  hoary 
grass  and  twinkling  furze-bushes  the  old 


JONAS   COAKER  155 

man  was  borne,  followed  by  a  great  train  of 
all  who  had  known  and  loved  him ;  and  as 
the  train  swept  over  rolling  hill,  down  into 
glen  by  brawling  torrent,  mile  after  mile,  by 
old  cairns  and  primeval  walled  enclosures, 
rose  the  hymn  and  psalm,  swelling,  ebbing, 
rising  again — a  river  of  music — till,  as  the 
funeral  procession  reached  the  head  of 
Hamledon,  a  mighty  wave  of  moorland, 
below  which  lies  the  church  of  Widecombe, 
the  music  of  the  bells  ringing  for  afternoon 
service  hushed  the  song  of  the  bearers. 


GOOSIE-VAIR 

ONE  day— that  of  Old  Michaelmas  Day — 
a  friend  and  myself  agreed  to  meet  at  Ward 
Bridge  over  the  Walla,  that  foams  down 
from  its  Dartmoor  cradle,  and  to  push  up  it 
together.  He  was  to  come  from  Plymouth 
to  Horrabridge  station,  and  to  walk  thence 
to  the  point  agreed  on,  and  be  on  the  bridge 
at  noon  punctually.  It  was  stipulated  that 
I  was  to  bring  lunch  for  both. 

Before  leaving  home  my  good  wife,  with 
that  wonderful  consideration  that  all  good 
wives  possess,  said  to  me :  "  To-day  is 
Goosie-Fair  in  Tavistock.  It  will  not  do 
for  you  to  be  within  a  few  miles  of  the 
place,  to  pass  through  it,  while  reeking  with 
preparations  for  a  feast  on  roast  goose,  and 
not  to  have  some.  Besides,  I  know  your 
tricks  and  your  ways.  When  you  smell 
the  roast  goose  fumes,  you  will  forget  all 
about  your  friend  and  the  appointment,  and 


158  DARTMOOR    IDYLLS 

the  scenery,  and  the  poetry  of  the  moor, 
and  turn  into  some  hospitable  house  for 
roast  goose.  There  is  cold  goose  in  the 
larder.  I  will  tell  the  cook  to  put  in  enough 
for  you  and  Mr.  Blank.  You  are  sure  to 
have  a  huge  appetite,  and  I  shall  provide 
accordingly." 

"All  right/'  said  I.  "Angel  of  the 
Spheres!  don't  forget  sage-and-onion  stuff 
ing.  Goose  without  stuffing  is  like  lamb 
without  mint  sauce,  a  title  without  an  estate, 
a  Frenchman  without  brag,  and  an  Irishman 
without  wit." 

I  started,  and  drove  through  Tavistock. 

The  town  was  crowded.  Acrobats,  show 
men,  organ-grinders,  cheap-jacks,  had  con 
gregated  there.  If  there  be  one  entertain 
ment  I  love  above  all  others  it  is  listening  to 
a  cheap-jack.  But  I  remembered  my  friend, 
I  drove  past.  The  streets  were  lined  with 
stalls,  the  most  inviting  peppermint  stick,  in 
barbers'  poles  of  pink  and  white,  was  exhi 
bited.  If  there  is  one  seductive  sweet  above 
another,  it  is  peppermint  stick.  But  I 
bought  none.  It  is  to  be  eaten  after,  not 
before,  a  meal.  I  considered  my  appoint 
ment,  and  drove  on. 

The  atmosphere  that  enveloped  the  town 
was  redolent  with  sage  and  onions,  and  the 


GOOSIE-VAIR  159 

savour  of  roasting  goose.  Had  not  the  best 
of  wives  put  some  of  the  article  into  the  box 
of  my  dog-cart,  I  had  never  got  beyond 
Tavistock  that  day. 

Presently  I  was  out  of  the  fumes  of  roast 
goose,  on  Whitchurch  Down,  whirling  past 
an  old  granite  cross  of  the  rudest  description, 
and  descending  a  hill,  like  the  side  of 
Salisbury  steeple,  to  Ward  Bridge. 

I  had  expected  to  see  my  friend  there 
already.  I  was  somewhat  behind  my  time, 
delayed  by  the  density  of  the  throng  in  the 
town.  But  no  one  was  on  the  bridge. 

I  waited,  and  wondered. 

The  scene  is  one  of  extraordinary  beauty. 
The  Walla  comes  down  from  the  moor  in 
the  turbulence  of  youth.  The  moor  stretches 
it  arms  on  each  side.  The  river  has  sawn 
itself  a  cleft,  and  in  this  cleft,  sheltered  from 
the  gales,  growing  out  of  every  cranny  be 
tween  the  granite  block  in  chaos,  start  beech 
and  birch  and  oak,  thick  and  luxuriant  as 
ambitions  in  a  boy's  mind.  At  this  season 
— October — the  woods  were  a  veritable 
Aladdin's  garden.  The  rowan,  or  mountain- 
ash,  was  a  mass  of  coral.  The  wild  guelder 
rose  dense  with  berries,  carmine  and  trans 
lucent,  true  carbuncles,  the  sloe-bushes  blue 
with  fruit  as  turquoise. 


160  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

I  looked  over  the  parapet  of  the  bridge 
into  the  limpid  river.  It  tumbled  among,  it 
swirled  about  boulders  of  every  size  and 
shape.  The  stones,  where  submerged,  were 
black  and  green  with  weed,  that  streamed 
down  the  current,  and  wavered,  a  very 
Berenice's  hair,  under  the  water,  and  in  and 
out  among  it  darted  the  black  moorland 
trout,  very  small,  but,  as  I  well  knew,  excel 
lent  for  eating.  As  I  looked  at  them,  I 
hummed  to  myself  the  words  and  strain  of 
an  old  folk-song,  relative  to  a  Cornish  volun 
teer  who  had  been  accidentally  shot  at  Pen- 
rhyn  during  some  May  games  more  than  a 
century  ag< 


"  O  Altarnun  !  O  Altarnun  !  I  never  shall  see  more, 
Nor  hear  the  bells  in  its  old  tower,  nor  stand  in  the 

church  door, 

Nor  list  the  birds  a-whistling,  nor  in  the  Inney  stream 
See  silver  trout  a-gleaming,  as  thoughts  glance  by  in 

dream." 

But  these  Walla  trout  are  black  and  not 
silver. 

There  was  no  path  up  the  river  bank,  this 
I  knew.  In  order  to  ascend  the  valley  I 
must  mount  the  hill,  and  strike  to  the  left 
by  a  farm  that  was  occupied,  and  by  another 
in  ruins. 

I   became   impatient.      I   was   becoming 


GOOSIE-VAIR  161 

rampageously  hungry,  and  that  being  the 
case,  was  cross.  I  thought — "  That  owl  of  a 
Blank  must  have  disregarded  arrangements 
and  have  preceded  me  up  the  road,  and  may 
be  awaiting  me  at  the  top  of  the  ascent." 

A  farmer  jogged  by.  I  asked  him  if  he 
had  seen  a  gentleman  on  the  road.  He 
replied  that  he  had  noticed  some  one  by 
Turpin's  cottage,  but  whether  it  was  a  gen'l- 
man  or  not,  he  could  not  say.  He  had  not 
stayed  to  observe,  he  was  late  for  Goosie- 
Fair — he  might  be  too  late  for  roast  goose 
— at  all  events  for  the  stuffing — sage  and 
"  ingins,"  he  said,  and  had  pushed  on. 

Accordingly  I  wrote  on  a  piece  of  paper, 
torn  from  my  pocket-book — 

"AS  USUAL— Late!  I  have 
gone  on  with  the  goose  to  the 
cottage.  Look  alive,  or  I  shall 
have  eaten  it  all." 

I  was  late  myself  in  arriving  at  Ward 
Bridge,  but  that  I  overlooked  in  considera 
tion  of  the  egregiousness  of  the  unpunctuality 
of  my  friend.  Really,  unpunctual  persons 
are  not  fit  to  be  allowed  to  live.  They 
should  be  destroyed  as  nuisances. 

I  went  up  the  hill,  and  turned  in  at  a 
gate  to  the  cottage — a  humble,  moor-stone 

M 


i62  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

cot,  constructed  without  an  atom  of  lime 
between  the  joints,  and  thatched  with  rushes. 
The  beech  hedge  to  the  garden  was  a  ring 
of  fire.  The  leaves  had  turned  yellow,  and 
the  sun  was  on  them ;  we  were  in  the 
Martinmas  summer. 

The  cottage  door  was  open,  and  I  entered. 
Then  I  saw  seated  in  a  high-backed 
leather  chair  by  the  deal  table,  a  man  with  a 
scarlet,  white-spotted  kerchief  in  his  hand. 
He  wore  knee-breeches  and  blue  worsted 
stockings.  His  hands  were  on  his  knees,  one 
held  the  kerchief. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,7'  said  I.  "  Will  you 
kindly  inform  me  if  a  gentleman  has  been 
here?" 

The  man  turned  towards  me. 
Then  I  noticed  that  something  was  amiss 
with  his  eyes.     There  was  a  film  over  them, 
and  they  were   inflamed.      A  tear   trickled 
down  each  cheek.     At  the  same  time  a  short 
uncouth  man  appeared,   risen   from   a  low 
stool  near  the  fire,  where  he  had  been  seated ; 
1  had  not  observed  him  at  first,  as  the  door 
way  and  chimney  were  on  the  same  side  of 
the  apartment. 

This  man  had  a  simple,  somewhat  childish 
face,  and  yet  he  was  old,  nearer  seventy  than 
sixty.  He  pulled  his  forelock  and  said, 


GOOSIE-VAIR  163 

"Your  service,  sir!"  He  wore  very  light, 
dust-coloured  corduroys,  and  a  string  was 
bound  round  his  legs  below  his  knees. 
"That's  Thomas  Coleman,"  he  said,  with 
a  tobacco-pipe  indicating  the  suffering  man. 
"  He's  terrible  put  upon  wi'  his  eyes.  There, 
drat  it  all!  I've  scattered  the  trade  on  the 
floor." 

The  "  trade  "  was  the  stuff  wherewith  he 
had  been  packing  the  bowl  of  the  tobacco- 
pipe. 

"You  have  not  seen  a  gentleman — of  a 
rather  provoking  description,  always  un- 
punctual — this  way  ?  "  I  asked. 

"No,  your  honour,"  answered  the  short 
man,  stooping  to  pick  up  the  spilled 
"  trade." 

"Because,"  I  said,  "a  farmer  who  was 
passing  a  few  minutes  agone  told  me  he 
had  observed  some  one  in  your  garden." 

"That  were  I,"  said  the  kneeling  man. 
"I  wor  a-gittin'  together  the  trade  for 
Coleman's  pipe." 

"What!  do  you  grow  tobacco  on  the 
moor  ? " 

"Tweren't  'zacklie  'baccy,"  answered  the 
man. 

I  looked  round.  There  was  a  cauldron 
simmering  over  the  peat  fire,  puffs  of 


164  DARTMOOR  IDYLLS 

steam  issued  at  intervals,  and  the  cover 
rattled. 

"So,"  said  I,  "you  are  not  at  Goosie- 
Fair.  Almost  every  one  else  is  there." 

"Ees,  I  reckon,"  said  the  child-faced 
man;  "us  can't  go,  not  Thomas  Coleman 
nor  me.  Us  couldn't  abear  it." 

The  man  with  bad  eyes  held  up  his  scarlet 
kerchief  to  his  face,  and  dried  his  moist 
cheeks. 

"  I  fear  you  are  suffering  greatly,"  said  I 
to  him. 

"  I  reckon  it  be  so,"  answered  he.  "  I've 
been  growin'  dim  some  while.  I  can't  see, 
your  honour,  terrible  sight.  Well,  I  reckon 
it  will  come  wor  afore  it  cometh  better." 

"  Have  you  had  advice  ?  " 

"Aye,  plenty  o'  that.  I've  been  to  the 
dispensary,  and  after  that  they  sent  I  to  the 
horse-spital,  but  lor  bless'y,  sir,  the  doctors 
wor  all  in  one  song." 

"  And  that  was  ? " 

"  That  my  eyes  'd  turn  reg'lar  blind  afore 
they  growed  better." 

"  Then  they  gave  you  some  hope  ?  " 

"  Nay !  I  win't  say  that  nother." 

"  But  surely  you  told  me  they  would  be 
better?" 

"  Ees,  they'll  come  round  agin." 


GOOSIE-VAIR  165 

"  Well,  that  is  something  to  hope   for, 
something  to  look  forward  to." 

"Ees,  sartain.     'Tes   something  to  look 


to." 


"  Then  there  is  to  be  an  operation  ? " 

"  Oh  lor !  they've  orpirated,  and  'tes  no 
use  at  all." 

I  was  puzzled. 

"They  think  you  will  come  round  in 
time  ? " 

«  Oh— they  thinks  nort.  'Tes  the  Word 
o'  God  say  it." 

I  was  silent. 

"It  stand' th  in  the  prophet  Izee:  cln 
that  day  shall  the  deaf  hear  the  words  o'  the 
buke,  and  the  eyes  o'  the  blind  shall  zee  out 
o'  obscoority  and  out  o'  darkness.'  I  shall 
zee  my  Patty  then." 

"  Aye,  Thomas  Coleman,  thim  blind  eyes 
'11  zee  Patty  then,"  acquiesced  the  short 
man,  "and  as  I  be  gawn  hard  o'  hearing 
myself,  that  appli'th  to  me  too.  Thomas 
Coleman,  he's  my  brother-in-law.  He 
married  of  my  sister  Patience,  you  know." 

I  was  interested  in  these  two  old  men. 

I  said,  <c  You  have  your  dinner  boiling  in 
the  pot,  and  I'm  detaining  you  from  it." 

"'Tes  our  dinner,"  answered  the  short 
one,  and  added  with  that  graceful  courtesy 


1 66  DARTMOOR  IDYLLS 

which  is  a  characteristic  of  our  agricultural 
labourers,  "If  'twarn't  such  terrible  poor 
trade,  us  'd  ax'y  to  have  a  bite  wi'  we." 

"Delighted,"  I  said  promptly;  "I  have 
brought  something  here.  My  friend — one 
of  the  most  unpunctual  and  aggravating 
persons  in  the  world— has  not  turned  up, 
and  I  do  not  relish  eating  in  solitude." 

"'Tes  titties  (potatoes),  but  you're  cruel 
welcome." 

"  Then  may  I  add  my  mite  to  the  pot  ? " 

I  put  my  portions  of  cold  roast  goose 
into  the  cauldron  along  with  the  "titties." 
I  was  quite  sure  the  old  men  would  relish 
the  addition. 

The  short  man  had  not  noticed  my  pro 
ceeding.  He  was  engaged  re-stuffing  the 
pipe.  The  other  was  too  blind  to  see 
anything. 

"Now  then,  Brother  Coleman,"  said  the 
short  man  with  the  simple  face,  "  let  I  light 
she,  and  smoke  and  think  o'  Patty." 

He  kindled  the  pipe  at  the  fire,  and  after 
a  few  puffs,  handed  it  to  his  brother-in-law. 

The  smell  diffused  from  the  pipe  was 
peculiar.  I  snuffed  and  raised  my  eyebrows. 

"No,"  said  the  childish  man,  observing 
my  expression  of  perplexity,  "her  bain't 
fulled  up  wi'  'baccy.  I  reckon  'tes  a  coorious 


GOOSIE-VAIR  167 

smitch  (scent),  but  Thomas  Coleman  fancieth 
it.  'Tes  just  a  little  sage  and  ingin  chopped 
up.  'Tes  Goosie-Vair." 

"  Yes,  Goose  Fair  in  Tavistock,"  said  I. 

"Us  can't  afford  to  go  to  Goosie-Vair," 
explained  the  short  man,  "  and  if  us  cu'd 
our  feelin's  udn't  let  us,  would  they,  Thomas 
Coleman  ? " 

"  No,  I  reckon,  Methuselah  Turpin." 

"That's  my  name,"  said  the  child-faced 
man ;  "  I'm  brother-in-law  to  he.  Patience 
Turpin  wor  her  full  name,  but  nobody  niver 
ca'ld  her  nothin'  but  Patty." 

"  I  think  I'll  go  out  in  the  garden,  and 
feel  how  the  bloody-warriors  be  comin'  on," 
said  the  nearly  blind  man.  Then  he  rose 
and  walked  to  the  door. 

Bloody-warriors  are  gilly  or  wall-flowers. 

"Thomas,  my  brother-in-law,  be  cruel 
took  up  wi'  flowers,"  explained  Methuselah. 
"Now  he  can't  see  'em  he  can  smell  to  'em." 

The  old  man  began  to  tidy  the  room — 
already  scrupulously  clean ;  and  then  to  lay 
a  white  cloth  on  the  table,  and  some  plates 
on  it. 

"  Us  be  poor  folk,"  he  said  apologetically, 
"  but  us  '11  make  you  kindly  welcome.  So 
— and  'tes  Goosie-Vair,  and  you  bain't 
there,". 


1 68  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

"No!- — I  came  for  a  walk  on  the  moor 
— an  inhuman  creature  called  Blank — 
but  there,  never  mind  him.  How  long 
is  it  since  your  brother-in-law  has  been 
afflicted?" 

"  It's  been  a-coming  on  iver  since  our 
Patty  died." 

He  talked  as  he  prepared  for  the  meal, 
hobbling  about  the  room.  He  was  not 
lame,  but  his  knees  were  perpetually  bent, 
he  could  not  straighten  his  limbs,  and  there 
was  a  bend  or  a  twist  in  his  mind  as  well — 
it  also  was  contracted. 

"You  see,  your  honour,  vayther  and 
mother  they  died  when  me  and  Patty  was 
young.  I  wor  the  ou'der  o'  the  two,  and 
tho'  folks  sez  as  I  be  a  bit  tottle  (silly),  yet 
I  cu'd  work  and  arn  my  thirteen  shilling 
and  keep  house  ;  and  Patty,  her  soon  growed 
ou'd  enough  to  be  vitty  (fitting  =  tidy)  and 
spry  (quick),  and  mind  the  house.  I  bringed 
she  up,  and  her  bringed  up  I,  till  Thomas 
Coleman  come  and  took  up  coortin'  she, 
and  marr'd  her.  But  it's  been  just  the 
same  ever  since — I've  lived  wi'  she  and 
Thomas,  after  they  was  marr'd,  and  she  has 
been  dead  these  five  year  come  Lady  Day ; 
and  Thomas  hev'  been  bad  in  his  eyes  iver 
sin'.  Not  as  that  had  nothin'  to  do  wi'  it. 


GOOSIE-VAIR  169 

Her  wor  a  peart  (lively)  little  maid  wor 
Patty,  and  I'm  none  surprised  as  Thomas 
Coleman  took  a  mind  to  she." 

"Any  children?"  I  asked. 

Methuselah  shook  his  head. 

Then  he  went  to  the  door,  and  called  his 
brother-in-law,  who  came  in.  Coleman  was 
feeble  in  body  as  well  as  failing  in  sight. 

He  groped  his  way  to  the  table,  and  took 
his  place.  Then  Turpin  poured  out  into  a 
bowl  the  contents  of  his  pot.  He  saw  meat 
and  bones  of  fowl  of  some  sort,  and  said 
simply— 

"  It's  chicking." 

"  No — not  chicken,"  I  said,  with  a  smile. 

No  sooner  had  the  two  old  men  begun  to 
eat  than  an  expression  of  wonder,  then  of 
reverential  awe,  came  over  their  faces. 

"  It's  goose !  "  exclaimed  Turpin. 

"  Goose,  sure-ly !  "  echoed  Coleman. 

"Us  haven't  eaten  no  goose  since  that 
day,  have  we,  Thomas  Coleman  ?  "  said  the 
childish  man. 

u  Well,  now,"  said  the  blind  man,  "  who 
shall  say  as  merickles  be  past  ? — and  to-day 
be  Goosie-Vair ! " 

"  This  is  something  better  than  a  'baccy 
bowl  stuffed  with  sage  anal  onions,"  said  I, 
laughing, 


i;o  DARTMOOR  IDYLLS 

"Thanks  to  you,  sir,  and  to  Him  as 
brought  you,  sir,"  said  Coleman.  "  So  it 
be.  But  you  see,  sir,  when  I  can't  have 
goose — and  I  haven't  set  my  teeth  into  one 
since  that  day — the  smoke  be  better  than 
nothin'  at  all,  special  since  I've  lost  my 
Patty." 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  see  the  old  men  enjoy 
that  goose.  I  was  now  thankful  that  my 
friend — that  fellow  Blank  (confound  him !) 
— had  not  arrived :  thankful  that  I  had 
come  to  the  cottage,  and  had  thought  of 
slipping  my  lunch  into  the  pot  of  the 
brothers-in-law. 

When  the  meal  was  over,  I  found  that 
their  hearts  were  open,  and  that  they  were 
ready  to  make  a  confidant  of  me. 

Now  it  was  Thomas  Coleman  who  took 
the  lead  in  speaking,  whilst  Methuselah 
Turpin  cleared  away  the  relics  of  the  feast. 

"I  don't  mind  tellin'  of  it  now,  your 
honour,  as  we  be  all  friends  together — not  as 
there's  ort  to  be  ashamed  on  !  The  Lord 
presarve  us! — but  there  be  some  soorts  o' 
things  folk  don't  like  to  tell  to  ivery  one — 
things  as  they  kip  huddled  up  i'  their  hearts 
like  treasures  they  don't  let  all  the  world 
zee.  Then  somethin'  comes  like  thickey 
(that)  mouthful  o'  goose  wi'  sage-apd-ingm 


GOOSIE-VAIR  171 

stuffing  and  it  unlocks  the  heart,  and  all 
comes  tumblin'  out.  I  don't  mind  tellin'  of 
it,  if,  sir,  you  don't  mind  the  hearin'  of  it." 

"  On  the  contrary,  you  could  not  do  me 
a  greater  kindness/' 

"  You  mun  know,"  said  the  blind  man, 
after  he  had  wiped  his  eyes,  "  I  wor  cruel 
took  up  wi'  Patty,  and  right  as  I  shu'd  be. 
Her  wor  a  proper  dacent  maid.  That  wor 
five-and-twenty  year  agone.  Then  I  had 
my  eyesight, — her  wor  nimble  on  her  feet 
as  a  hare,  and  light  o'  heart  as  a  gladys 
(yellow-hammer)." 

Then  Methuselah  broke  in. 

"Brother  Thomas  Coleman,"  said  he, 
"  let  me  tell  the  genl'man  about  that.  You 
corned  a-coortin'  o'  my  zistur,  and  I  didn't 
half  like  it.  Her  and  me  had  been  very 
comfortable  like  together.  Her'd  looked 
arter  me,  and  I'd  looked  arter  she ;  and  I 
didn't  half  like  it  when  you,  Thomas  Cole 
man,  wos  always  axin'  me  if  I  cu'd  find  my 
way  all  alone  to  Jericho." 

The  blind  man  turned  his  face  to  me  and 
tapped  his  forehead. 

"  Methuselah  be  that  simple,"  said  he, 
"he  don't  understand  nothin'  about  coortin' ; 
he  niver  at  no  time  went  in  for  they  May- 
games.  Of  course,  I  didn't  want  to  have  he 


i;2  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

hangin'  about  wheniver  I  corned  over  to  see 
Patty,  a-dragglin'  along  iverywhere  wi'  us 
when  I  took  her  out  a  bit  o'  a  stroll.  I 
dare  say  I  may  ha'  axed  he  to  go  to  Jericho 
at  time  or  two  ;  but,  Methuselah  !  you  was 
terrible  provokin'  at  my  coortin'  time." 

"  I  wasn't  goin'  to  have  none  but  a  proper 
chap  have  my  zistur,"  explained  Turpin ; 
"an1  how  wos  I  to  find  that  out  wi'out 
follerin'  'em  iverywhere,  and  hearin'  all  they 
had  to  say  the  one  to  another  ?  Us  hed 
lost  vayther  and  mother,  and  I  thought 
it  wor  my  dooty  to  look  arter  the  maid." 

"  I  reckon  you  a  little  over-did  it,  Methu 
selah." 

"A  chap  can't  be  too  partickler,"  said 
Turpin,  gravely.  "Tweren't  as  if  I  had  a 


scoor  o'  zisturs." 


"Well,"  pursued  the  blind  man,  "the 
coortin'  went  on  wi'  difficulties,  just  as  well 
as  two  poor  creatures  cu'd,  wi'  Methuselah 
trailin'  about,  and  niver  for  no  minit  out  o' 
the  way.  At  last  comes  our  weddin' — Old 
Michaelmas  Day,  Goosie-Vair — and  us — 
that's  me  and  Patty — had  a  mind  to  make 
our  honeymoon  off  roast  goose.  Patty  and 
I  was  to  drive  into  Tavistock,  and  ha'  our 
bust  on  goose,  and  all  to  ourselves,  lovier 
like.  Will'y  b'lieve  it,  sir,  that  there 


GOOSIE-VATR  173 

dratted  Methuselah,  he  would  come  honey- 
moonin'  along  wi'  we.  Sed  I  to  he,  'A 
goose,  as  every  vule  (fool)  knoweth,  be  too 
much  for  one  and  not  enough  for  three/ 
But,  lor'  bless  y',  sir !  there  were  no  movin' 
he — Methuselah  be  that  stubborn  when  he 
takes  something  into  his  head.  Sed  he, 
'Thomas  Coleman,  I  knows  as  my  zistur 
hath  a  tremendjous  small  apertite,  and  the 
goose  '11  do  very  well  between  us  three.'  It's 
o'  no  use  argifying  wi'  the  likes  o'  he." 
The  blind  man  touched  his  brow  signi 
ficantly,  and  shook  his  head. 

Then  the  short  man  broke  in.  "  Thomas 
Coleman,  he  said  to  I,  '  Don't  y'  think, 
Methuselah,  you'd  better  get  your  ticket 
and  go  to  Jericho  ? '  Then  I  sed,  '  I'm  not 
a-gwan',  Thomas ;  for  why  ?  Because  I  don't 
know  for  sartain  they  keep  Goosie-Vair  to 
thickey  place  you  call  Jericho,  and  I  know 
they  do  to  Tavistock.' " 

"  Well,"  continued  the  blind  man,  "  there 
was  no  giving  he  the  slip.  When  us  got  to 
the  e  Plough/  they  wos  uncommon  kind,  for 
they  knawed  us  three  wor  out  honeymoonin', 
and  they  gave  us  a  gurt  (great)  big  goose, 
so  big  as  a  turkey.  We  eat  'n,  and  had 
enough.  Well,  your  honour,  I've  niver 
tasted  roast  goose  from  that  day  to  this, 


174  DARTMOOR  IDYLLS 

exceptin'  in  my  dreams.  Us  be  poor  folk, 
and  can't  afford  'n."  Coleman  wiped  his 
eyes.  "  But,  sir,  wheniver  our  weddin'  day 
cometh  round,  I  just  have  a  whiff  out  o'  my 
'baccy-pipe  o'  sage  and  ingins,  and  then  I 
seems  to  be  carried  back  to  that  theer 
weddin'  day,  when  Patty  wor  so  charmin' 
and  Methuselah  that  terrible  provokin'. 
However,  I'll  go  on  wi'  my  tale.  Us  re 
turned  from  our  honeymoonin' — that  is  to 
say,  Patty  and  me  and  Methuselah — and 
Farmer  Northmore  had  given  me  up  this 
here  little  cottage  to  live  in  wi'  my  wife  ; 
and  when  I  brought  Patty  here,  nothin' 
would  do  but  Methuselah  must  cum  also." 

" There  now,"  protested  Turpin;  "what 
wor  I  to  do  wi'out  my  zistur  ?  Her'd 
knitted  my  stockings,  and  baked  kettle 
bread,  and  my  pasty,  and  I  couldn't  get  on 
by  myself.  When  us  came  to  the  door, 
after  our  honeymoon,  Thomas  turned  as  red 
as  a  poppy,  and  said,  '  For  the  last  time, 
will  you  be  off  to  Jericho  ? '  But  I  answered 
and  said,  ( I  don't  reckon  the  farmers  there 
be  in  want  o'  hands.  They're  all  suited.' 
So  I  stayed  wi'  'em,  I  did." 

"And  it  was  best  so,"  said  Thomas. 
"  My  dear  wife  didn't  live  long  —  only 
twenty  years.  O  dear  blood !  I  shall  not 


GOOSIE-VAIR  175 

see  her  again — (  not  till  the  eyes  see  out  o' 
obscoority  and  out  o'  darkness/  as  Scriptur 
telleth."  ' 

"  They  may  call  me  tottle,"  put  in 
Methuselah,  "but  I  did  the  right  thing. 
For  when  my  zistur  died,  and  Thomas 
became  hard  o'  seein',  who'd  ha'  looked 
arter  things,  I'd  like  to  knaw  ?  Everything 
ha  gone  suant  (smoothly)  wi'  me.  I've 
been  doin'  woman's  work  —  baking  and 
washin',  and  darnin',  and  the  likes/' 

"  That's  true  enough,"  assented  Thomas 
Coleman. 

A  twelvemonth  passed,  and  again  ^came 
the  Martinmas  summer  and  the  Tavistock 
Goose  Fair.  I  had  gone  into  the  town,  not 
to  partake  of  goose,  but  in  pure  oblivion  of 
the  fact  that  it  was  "  Goosie-Vair."  When, 
however,  I  did  realise  that  it  was  this 
momentous  day,  then  I  recalled  those 
brothers-in-law,  and  became  desirous  of 
seeing  them  again. 

Alas!  such  had  been  the  spin  and  tear 
of  life,  that  I  had  not  found  time  to  go 
to  them  again  through  an  entire  twelve 
month.  I  had  purposed  doing  so,  but  had 
always  postponed  the  expedition — because 
of  distance,  because  of  business,  because  of 


176  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

pleasure,  because  of  the  weather,  because 
of  laziness.  But  now  that  Goose  Fair  Day 
was  come,  and  had  brought  with  it  the  same 
radiant  weather  as  in  the  previous  year,  I 
merely  baited  my  horse,  and  then  drove 
on  to  Ward  Bridge. 

The  woods  were  as  golden  and  copper  as 
they  had  been  the  year  before,  the  fern  was  as 
russet,  the  mountain-ash  berries  as  coraline, 
the  guelder  berries  as  carbuncle-like,  and  the 
sloes  as  turquoise  in  the  bloom  on  their 
purple  cheeks.  The  water  foaming  under 
the  bridge  waved  the  long  black  weed-tresses, 
the  trout  darted — just  the  same.  It  was 
hard  to  believe  that  a  whole  year  had 
slipped  away  since  my  last  visit. 

I  rode  slowly  up  the  steep  ascent,  turned 
at  the  corner,  hitched  up  my  horse  at  the 
gate,  and  entered  the  little  garden. 

All  about  the  house  was  the  same,  Not 
the  smallest  token  of  change.  Under  the 
window  were  seedling  wallflowers — "  bloody- 
warriors  " — ready  to  be  set  out  for  spring- 
flowering  next  year.  The  door  was  open. 
I  tapped  and  walked  in,  and  looked  at  the 
arm-chair.  It  was  empty. 

I  tapped  again.  I  could  hear  some  one 
stumping  about  up-stairs,  but  he  seemed 
unable  to  hear  me.  I  waited  patiently  till 


GOOSIE-VAIR  177 

he  came  down.  Then  I  saw  Methuselah 
Turpin,  creeping  along  with  legs  bent,  more 
clumsy  and  uncouth  than  before ;  and  I 
speedily  discovered  that  his  ears  had  become 
more  hard  of  hearing. 

Where  was  his  brother-in-law?  He 
beckoned  to  me  to  follow,  and  he  led  me 
up  the  steep  staircase,  that  was  little  better 
than  a  ladder. 

When  I  had  reached  the  chamber,  I  saw 
the  bed,  and  on  the  bed  a  coffin.  The  old 
Thomas  was  laid  therein,  no  doubt,  but  the 
lid  was  on. 

"Her  bain't  screwed  down  yet,"  said 
Turpin,  "  but  her  will  be  present-ly.  Would 
y'  like  to  have  a  look  ?  Thomas  maketh  a 
beautiful  lych,  that  her  do." 

He  stumbled  to  the  bedside,  and  raised 
the  lid.  I  saw  the  old  man  then.  There 
was  a  little  colour  still  in  the  cheeks  and 
the  lips.  The  blind  eyes  were  closed.  The 
face  was  singularly  peaceful ;  it  had  a 
wondrous  refinement  and  beauty  in  it.  But 
I  opened  my  eyes  very  wide  at  something  I 
saw — at  something  that  made  me  turn  and 
look  sharply  at  Methuselah,  whose  hand 
shook  as  he  held  the  coffin-lid;  and  he 
said,  apologetically — 

"Well,  sir,  your  honour,   I    thought  as 

N 


i;8  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

my  sister  Patty  would  be  main  pleased. 
You  see  to-day  be  Goosie-Vair." 

What  surprised  and  shocked  me  was  the 
sight  of  the  pipe  slipped  into  the  dead 
man's  mouth,  between  the  dead  lips.  But 
that  was  not  all.  It  was  stuffed.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  as  to  what  was  the 
stuffing — sage  and  onions ! 

"You  see,"  said  Methuselah,  "to-day 
be  Goosie-Vair.  To-day  twenty-six  years 
agone  my  sister  Patty  married  Thomas 
Coleman,  and  they — us  three — kep'  our 
honeymoon  into  Tavistock  Goosie-Vair. 
Well,  Thomas  he  sed  I  was  a  bit  tottle, 
but  for  all,  I  don't  think  I  be.  He's  agwan' 
to  be  buried  to-day — Goosie-Vair — beside 
Patty,  into  Walkamton  churchyard.  He's 
gwan*  to  be  laid  o'  one  side,  and  I've  made 
square  wi'  the  sexton  as  I'm  to  be  laid  on 
t'other — her  i'  the  middle — when  it  please 
the  Lord  to  take  me.  And  I  thought  I'd 
gi'e  my  sister  a  bit  o'  surprise  and  pleasure 
like.  Her'll  be  walking  in  the  heavenly 
garding  —  and  all  to  once  her'll  smell  a 
snitch  o'  sage  and  ingins,  and  her'll  jump 
up  like  and  say,  "Tes  Goosie-Vair,  and 
there  be  my  Thomas  Coleman  havin'  his 
pipe  o'  sage  and  ingins — sure  as  iver,  it  be 
he  comin' ;  and  her'll  run  to  the  gates  and 


GOOSIE-VAIR  179 

be  the  first  to  welcome  he — comin'  along 
smokin'  of  his  pipe.  I'm  not  so  tottle — 
not  I." 

A  year  later — nay,  rather  more  than 
that — and  the  little  cottage  was  deserted. 
Methuselah,  grown  very  deaf,  had  departed, 
and  was  laid  on  one  side  of  his  sister. 
There  is  a  headstone  to  all  three,  and  on 
it  the  text — 

"'In  that  day  shall  the  deaf  hear  the 
words  of  the  book,  and  the  eyes  of  the  blind 
shall  see  out  of  obscurity  and  out  of 
darkness.' — Isa.  xxix.  18." 


THE   HAMMETTS 

THE  river  Plym,  after  leaving  the  moor  at 
Cadover  Bridge,  descends  rapidly  through 
a  gorge  the  sides  of  which  are  of  rock,  in 
terspersed  with  dwarf  oak.  In  spring  the 
loveliest  of  gold  green  is  mixed  with  the 
most  delicate  of  silver  greys  into  the  most 
harmonious  whole.  But  perhaps  among  the 
rainbow  changes  of  colour,  the  fairest  phase 
is  in  August,  when  the  moorland  above  the 
trees  is  in  full  bloom  of  the  heath  and 
heather;  then  it  is  as  though  raspberry 
cream  had  been  spilt  over  the  tors  and  was 
streaming  down  the  sides,  running  through 
every  cleft,  capping  every  rock,  spreading 
over  every  slope,  suffusing  every  sweep  of 
down,  the  whole  over-arched  by  the  silvery 
blue  sky. 

Here  and  there  a  gorse-bush  shoots  forth 
as  a  burst  of  flame  through  the  mantle  of 
pink  that  is  pure,  sweet  as  a  maiden's  blush. 

181 


182  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

This  same  wave  of  rosy  lilac  flows  down 
upon  and  runs  in  among  the  oak  coppice, 
and  drives  forward  and  downward  the  rank 
bracken,  that  is  thrust  to  the  river  from 
under  the  shelter  of  the  dark  green  oaks, 
and  is  already  touched  with  frost  or  pre 
mature  decay,  and  changing  through  every 
range  of  tint  from  sap  green  to  old  gold. 

Below,  the  Plym  boils  and  tosses  over 
rocks,  here  by  its  spray  nourishing  an 
emerald  patch  of  moss  that  -caps  a  boulder, 
there  foaming  into  a  pool  shot  through  by 
trout  black  in  body,  and  cooling  the  feet  of 
the  great  royal  osmunda  that  stands  tall  and 
rich  at  the  margin,  with  its  cinnamon  flower 
scathes  now  in  ripeness.  Perched  on  a  stone 
under  the  osmunda  is  the  blue  kingfisher 
watching  for  a  trout  sufficiently  small  to 
become  his  prey,  and  the  wagtail  is  "dish 
washing  "  on  a  flat  stone  in  mid-river,  with 
out  any  concern  for  a  meal,  as  the  tiny  gnats 
are  thick  in  the  air  as  motes  in  the  sunbeam. 

The  mighty  rock  that  shoots  up  precipit 
ously  from  the  river  is  the  Dewerstone,  and 
it  marks  the  junction  of  the  Plym  and  the 
Meavy. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  river  the  precipice 
is  less  bold.  A  bridge  crosses  the  combined 
waters  and  scrambles  up  the  moorside  to 


THE   HAMMETTS  183 

Sliaugh,  the  granite  tower  of  whose  church 
shoots  boldly  against  the  sky,  and  pricks  it 
with  its  pinnacles. 

At  the  very  water's  meet  stood  a  cottage 
called  Grenofen,  and  at  the  time  of  which 
we  are  telling,  it  was  occupied  by  a  couple 
of  the  name  of  Hammett.  Job  Hammett 
was  a  man  of  over  seventy,  stooping, 
with  his  head  on  one  side,  and  a  pointed 
nose,  from  the  point  of  which  brow  and 
mouth  and  chin  receded  at  an  angle  of  sixty 
degrees,  giving  him  very  much  the  appear 
ance  of  a  bird.  Bird-like  also  was  the  way 
in  which  he  hopped  about,  twitched  his  head 
from  side  to  side,  and  flapped  his  arms. 
There  was  a  somewhat  sly  look  in  his  small 
eyes;  lines  were  deeply  drawn  from  behind 
each  nostril  that  crossed  the  jaw  and  met 
under  the  chin,  giving  a  sardonic,  ill-natured 
expression  to  his  features. 

His  wife  Bell  Hammett  was  a  fine  woman, 
well  compacted,  heavy,  not  in  flesh  only,  but 
in  bone  as  well ;  with  very  fair  complexion, 
barley-sugar-coloured  eyebrows  and  hair  of 
head ;  the  latter  always  beautifully  smooth, 
and  maintaining  its  gloss  although  she  was 
getting  on  in  age,  though  fifteen  years 
younger  than  her  husband.  Altogether  a 
comely  woman  was  Bell  Hammett.  She 


1 84  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

was  scrupulously  neat  in  her  dress,  scrupu 
lously  clean  in  her  person. 

It  was  the  trouble  of  her  life  that  Job  was 
rummagy  and  untidy.  He  had  to  be  made 
clean,  put  into  order,  bullied  into  tidiness. 
And  Bell  was  just  the  woman  to  keep  Job  up 
to  the  mark.  She  had  no  scruples  about 
using  her  tongue  on  him — no  more  than  has 
a  bear  in  licking  her  cubs  into  shape. 

When  she  did  this,  Job  was  not  slow  to 
reply.  She  rated  and  abused  him  in  a  long- 
continued,  loud,  and  harsh  declamation ;  he 
answered  by  sudden  and  sharp  onslaughts, 
and  contrived  in  a  very  few  words,  shot  in 
between  her  sentences,  to  strike  the  woman 
and  wound  her  where  most  sensitive.  These 
retorts  only  made  her  worse,  more  angry, 
more  abusive,  more  extravagant;  but  they 
served  as  a  relief  to  Job,  and  a  gratification 
to  his  malice. 

This  couple  led  a  most  unhappy  connubial 
life.  They  were  ill  assorted,  they  showed 
each  other  no  love,  their  time  was  spent  in 
annoying  one  another,  in  mutual  recrimi 
nation. 

There  was  one  particular  song  which  Job 
loved  to  hum,  or  to  whistle,  or  to  tap  with 
his  fingers  on  the  table,  that  peculiarly  aggra 
vated  her. 


THE   HAMMETTS  185 

Isabella  Hammett  had  been  brought  from 
a  populous  and  cheerful  neighbourhood  to 
Grenofen,  when  Job  married  her,  and  she  felt 
the  loneliness  of  her  life  in  the  wood  at  the 
foot  of  the  great  rock,  with  no  one  nearer 
than  at  Shaugh,  to  which  she  must  climb. 
She  was  then  a  lively,  agreeable  young 
woman,  and  was  much  in  request  as  gossip 
at  baptisms,  and  she  had  a  passion  for  funerals. 
No  one  in  any  parish  round  could  die  and 
be  buried  without  Isabella  Hammett  going 
to  the  interment,  and  weeping  copiously  over 
the  grave  and  through  the  service  that  com 
mitted  dust  to  dust  and  ashes  to  ashes. 

There  was  a  young  butcher  who  on  one 
occasion,  and  one  only,  escorted  Isabella 
Hammett  home  from  a  funeral.  He  had 
been  a  bearer,  and  wore  his  most  glossy 
black  and  whitest  pocket-handkerchief,  and 
most  lugubrious  face,  and  most  double  Day- 
and-Martined  boots. 

Job  took  it  into  his  head  to  be  jealous,  to 
throw  out  hints  that  Bell  was  carrying  on 
with  the  butcher.  He  believed  that  she 
got  her  meat  from  him  only  that  she  might 
flirt  with  him  whenever  the  meat  cart  halted 
on  Shaugh  Bridge ;  that  the  "  Ho  !  ho !  " 
which  the  butcher  shouted  from  his  cart  on 
the  bridge  was  not  so  much  a  call  for  Bell 


1 86  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

to  come  out  and  choose  a  joint  or  take 
in  tripe,  as  a  summons  to  an  affectionate 
tete-a-tete. 

That  was  thirty  years  ago,  and  now  the 
butcher  was  married  and  had  a  dozen 
children,  and  Bell  had  stood  godmother  to 
half  of  that  dozen,  and  had  wept  over  the 
graves  of  three  which  had  died.  The 
butcher  no  longer  came  round  with  his  cart. 
His  son  who  was  in  the  business  did  that. 

Nevertheless,  the  old  grievance  of  that 
walk  home  with  the  butcher  in  his  bearer's 
garb  was  still  a  topic  of  irritation  and  strife 
between  Job  and  his  wife.  She  had  for 
some  years  given  up  attending  little  domestic 
festivities ;  nevertheless,  the  accusation  that 
she  was  a  gad-about  was  cast  in  her  teeth  on 
all  occasions.  And,  as  a  gentle  reminder 
that  he  had  something  against  her,  Job 
would  hum  or  rap  or  whistle  the  tune  of 
"  The  old  man  can't  keep  his  wife  at  home," 
when  he  did  not  speak,  and  yet  desired  to 
annoy  her.  And,  it  must  be  allowed,  the 
air  of  this  song  was  one  of  a  peculiarly 
irritating  nature ;  at  least,  Bell  Hammett 
considered  it  so. 

The  song  was  never  sung  through  in  its 
entirety  in  her  presence.  If  it  came  out,  it 
was  in  a  fragmentary  condition,  and  it  was 


THE   HAMMETTS  187 

sometimes  interpolated  with  allusions  to  the 
butcher  in  black,  which  did  not  concord 
with  rhyme  or  metre. 

As  Job  Hammett  has  long  ceased  to  sing 
the  song  in  snatches,  indeed  to  sing  it  at  all 
in  this  world,  and  if  he  is  singing  elsewhere, 
is  certainly  not  singing  this,  I  will  venture 
here  to  transcribe  it. 

"  The  old  man  can't  keep  his  wife  at  home, 

She  dearly  loves  abroad  to  roam. 
She  chooseth  to  eat  the  daintiest  meat — 

Here  was  interpolated,  "  Got  of  that  mourn 
ing  butcher" — 

"  And  leaves  the  old  man  the  bone. 
Herself  must  have  good  cheer, 
Herself  drink  humming  beer, 
A  merry  life  lives  she, 
For  her  heart  is  full  of  glee. 

"  The  old  man's  wife  went  out  to  dine, 

And  left  him  tucked  in  bed  at  home. 
She  was  dressed  so  fine,  she  tippled  red  wine, 
Her  face  with  pleasure  shone. 
She  capered  and  she  danced, 
She  like  an  ostrich  pranced, 
And  she  sang,  *  There's  none  so  free 
As  old  men's  wives  can  be.; 

"The  old  man  began  to  crawl,  and  coughed  ; 

Above  the  door  he  set  a  stone, 
Then  sat  and  quaffed  gruel  and  laughed, 
Till  spasms  made  him  groan. 
His  wife  so  late  came  home, 
Then  clattered  down  the  stone. 
It  fell  on  her  head 
And  it  knocked  her  dead." 


i88  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

Then,  with  a  volley  of  hammering  of  fists 
on  the  table,  and  kicks  with  his  feet.  Job 
would  roar  out  the  chorus  : — 

"  The  old  man  don't  keep  a  wife  at  home, 

Not  one  who  dearly  loves  to  roam. 
Odds  bobbins  !  my  life  !    Of  gad-about  wife 
The  old  man  now  has  none." 

Matters  went  on  in  this  wretched  fashion 
for  thirty  years,  getting  worse  rather  than 
better.  At  first  each  was,  as  it  were,  trying 
his  or  her  weapons,  feeling  the  other's  side 
for  vulnerable  points;  years  of  girding  at 
one  another  had  made  them  perfect  masters 
of  hurting  and  incensing  one  another.  At 
last  it  became  intolerable  to  both.  After  a 
continuous  engagement  that  lasted  three  days 
and  three  nights,  without  a  break,  when 
each  was  raw  and  wincing,  or  bruised  and 
aching — when  the  temper  of  each  was  flaring 
at  white  heat,  then  both  came  simultaneously 
to  the  conclusion  reached  by  the  blase  man 
of  society,  that  life  is  not  worth  living. 

"  I  shall  commit  suicide,"  yelled  Job. 

"  So  shall  I ;  that's  the  only  way  to  be  rid 
o'  you,"  screamed  Bell. 

"  Go  and  ax  the  butcher  to  lend  you  his 
sticker,"  sneered  Job. 

"  Go  and  smother  yourself  in  dirt,"  jibed 
Bell. 


THE   HAMMETTS  189 

"I  won't  hear  another  word  from  you/' 
raged  Job. 

"Nor  I  from  you"  retorted  Bell.  "I 
shall  starve  myself  to  death." 

"  So  shall  I,"  said  Job. 

"I  shan't  do  it  in  the  house,  lest  you 
should  enjie  the  sight/'  said  Bell. 

"  Do  it  anywhere,  so  long  as  you  do  it," 
answered  Job. 

"  I  shall  go  into  the  wood  across  the 
river,"  said  Bell,  "  and  die  there." 

"  No,  you  shan't ;  the  butcher  '11  come 
and  feed  you  as  the  ravens  did  Elijah.  I'll 
go  there." 

"  Then  I'll  climb  Dewerstone." 

"  Do  it — only  begone." 

Accordingly  these  miserable  beings  left 
their  house,  one  in  one  direction  and  one  in 
the  other,  fully  resolved  to  commit  suicide, 
each  by  abstention  from  food.  Mrs.  Hammett 
scrambled  to  the  summit  of  the  Dewerstone, 
and  there,  panting  and  very  hot,  threw 
herself  down  in  the  heather.  Mr.  Hammett 
hopped,  bird-like,  from  stone  to  stone  in  the 
bed  of  the  Plym  till  he  reached  the  further 
side,  and  then  he  crawled  away  into  the 
depth  of  the  coppice  and  cast  himself  among 
the  fragrant  bracken. 

Bell  Hammett  was  greatly  exhausted  ;  she 


190  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

was  so  hot  and  her  wind  so  short  that  for  a 
while  it  was  to  her  real  enioyment  to  lie  on 
the  heather,  look  up  into  the  depth  of  sky, 
and  think  that  that  was  where  her  husband 
never  would  be.  It  was  a  place  reserved 
for  herself. 

What  an  ill-used  woman  she  had  been  ! 
For  thirty  years  she  had  been  the  wife  of 
that  mean,  spiteful,  grubby  old  Job,  had 
toiled  for  him,  had  mended  for  him,  washed 
for  him,  baked  for  him,  and  all  she  got  in 
return  was  abuse. 

Why  had  she  taken  him  ?  Never  had 
she  committed  a  greater  mistake,  never  done 
anything  she  rued  more  bitterly.  What  if 
she  had  not  married  Hammett  ?  Was  it 
not  possible  that  the  butcher — "  Never 
mind  about  the  butcher,"  said  Bell.  "He 
is  far  out  of  my  reach  as  yon  liquid,  lovely 
star,"  and  she  pointed  to  Venus,  then  just 
showing  above  the  horizon,  for  the  day  was 
declining.  "  It's  a  sin  to  think  of  the 
butcher,"  continued  Bell,  u  now  I'm  on  the 
threshold  of  eternity." 

She  put  out  her  hand,  plucked  a  couple 
of  whortleberries,  and  put  them  into  her 
mouth. 

"  How  Job  has  gone  on  about  that  butcher, 
all  these  thirty  years,  and  I'm  sure  I  gave 


THE   HAMMETTS  191 

him  no  occasion — that's  to  say,  nothing  so 
very  partic'lar ;  but  he  might  ha'  overlooked 
it,  in  thirty  years.  Men  is  onray  son  able ; 
wimmen  is  poor  sufferin'  martyrs." 

The  light  began  to  fade  out  of  the  sky. 
To  the  west  was  a  wondrous  glory,  and 
against  that,  the  peaks  of  the  Cornish  moors 
stood  distinct  and  sharp. 

"There'll  be  rain  to-morrer,"  said  Bell, 
"when  the  Cornish  tors  be  so  distinct. 
Lawk-a- dickey !  If  I  be  to  starve  to  death, 
I'd  rayther  do  it  dry.  'Twill  be  terrible  tryin' 
if  rain  cometh  on." 

The  glow  became  less.  An  amber  cloud 
turned  dull  and  lost  its  gold,  changing  into 
lead. 

"  Deary  dimmity !  "  said  Mrs.  Hammett, 
sitting  up.  "There's  Job's  Sunday  shirt; 
there's  a  great  piece  tore  out  o'  the  tail ;  the 
wind  on  Tuesday  did  it  as  it  hung  on  the 
cord;  the  wind  and  the  clothes-peg  did  it, 
and  'tain't  mended."  She  lay  back  again. 
"  It  don't  matter,  though,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  Job's  not  like  to  want  it  where  he's  going." 
That  thought  comforted  her  for  a  while,  but 
only  for  a  while.  She  sat  up  again.  "I 
should  be  ashamed,  after  I'm  dead  and  gone, 
that  folks  should  find  Job's  shirt  with  a  hole 
in  it — tore  and  never  mended;  and  Job, 


1 92  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

he'll  never  ha'  done  slappin'  at  me  in  king 
dom  come  over  that  tore  shirt,  that  is,  if  iver 
we  meet,  from  which  presarve  us." 

She  threw  herself  back  in  the  heather. 

Rooks  were  flying  overhead.  They  had 
been  on  the  moor;  they  were  returning  to 
observe  the  condition  of  their  nests,  whether 
much  injured  during  their  holiday  after 
rearing  the  young. 

"  PYaps  they  may  want  that  there  shirt  to 
lay  him  out  in!"  mused  Bell,  putting  up 
her  head.  "Oh  dear!  it's  begun  workin'. 
I  didn't  have  my  cup  o'  tea  this  arternoon, 
and  so  weren't  proper  fitted  up  for  starvation. 
That's  unfortunate;  but  I  begins  to  feel 
hunger  a-ravenin'  in  my  in'erds." 

There  was  twilight  in  the  sky  after  the  sun 
had  set.  Dew  began  to  fall,  and  Bell 
Hammett  to  be  chilled.  She  lay  very  still 
for  some  time,  sighing,  vexing  her  mind  over 
that  cup  of  tea  she  had  not  taken  in  prepara 
tion,  when  suddenly  a  thought  darted  into 
her  mind  like  the  stab  of  a  stiletto. 

"  Jemminy-crikey  !  "  said  she,  sitting  bolt 
upright.  "  That  rabbit-pie  in  the  larder !  " 

Bell  remained  semi-upright  for  some 
minutes,  shivering  with  cold  and  the  void 
internally,  and  concerned  over  this  precious 
rabbit-pie. 


THE   HAMMETTS  193 

"  Whativer  is  to  be  done  ?  "  asked  Bell  of 
vacancy;  "there's  thunner  in  the  air,  and 
for  sure  her'll  niver  keep  to  our  buryin'. 
It'll  take  three  days  killin'  us  wi'  starvation, 
and  then,  I  reckon,  about  five  days  till  us  be 
taken  to  be  buried.  The  rabbit-pie  '11  niver 
keep  till  then." 

What  a  prospect ! 

"Drat  it/'  said  Mrs.  Hammett.  "There's 
a  lady-bird  creedlin'  over  my  face,  and 
another,  I  reckon,  rampagin'  in  my  hair. 
I  don't  likes  this  soort  o'  thing,  and  I'm 
terrible  holler  in  my  in'erds.  That  there 
rabbit-pie — "  She  paused,  shivered,  sighed, 
and  said,  "  There's  a  hard-bi'led  egg  cut 
up — and  there's  sliced  chives,  and  the  jelly 
all  set — oh  my ! " 

She  drove  the  lady-bird  from  her  hair. 

"  I  do  make  good  pastry — that  I  do.  'Tis 
a  cruel  shame  thickey  (that)  rabbit-pie  should 
go  bad.  It  seems  a  sin  like.  And  if  I  be 
goin',  as  I  be,  out  o'  this  world,  it  won't  do 
to  go  wid  a  conscience  burdened,  and 
burdened  it  will  be  should  thickey  rabbit-pie 
turn  bad  before  the  buryin'." 

She  drew  herself  together. 

"It's  cold — terrible, and  there,  I've  been  and 
got  prickles  o'  fuzz  into  my  hand.  'Tain't 
that  I  mind,  though — it's  thickey  rabbit-pie." 


194  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

She  stumbled  to  her  knees. 

There  was  a  light  in  Grenofen. 

"  Whoiver  hev  been  that  wicked  to  come 
burglin' — whilst  us  hev  been  preparing  our 
selves  for  eternity?"  asked  Bell  Hammett, 
in  great  excitement.  "And,  I  shouldn't 
wonder,  hev  got  at  the  rabbit-pie.  I'll  spoil 
their  little  sport." 

Down  the  Dewerstone  went  the  woman 
faster  than  she  went  up,  swinging  herself 
from  one  tuft  of  heather  to  another,  and 
never  staying  till  she  reached  the  cottage, 
when  she  threw  the  door  open,  rushed  in — 
no  one  was  in  the  kitchen — plunged  into  the 
larder,  and  found  Job  there,  engaged  in 
eating  the  rabbit-pie  without  knife,  fork,  or 
spoon,  using  only  fingers. 

"  You  mouldy  old  crumb !  "  she  cried. 
"  You  dirty,  ontidy  creetur — how  dare  you !  " 

And  here  the  veil  may  well  be  drawn  on 
the  scene  of  mutual  recrimination  —  and 
mutual  consumption  of  the  rabbit-pie. 

For  some  time,  as  may  well  be  imagined, 
the  rabbit-pie  formed  a  subject  of  jibe  between 
the  pair,  and  displaced  the  butcher  of  Shaugh. 
There  ensued  as  little  harmony  as  before, 
and  after  six  months  the  annoyance  became 
so  great,  the  sense  of  misery  so  acute,  that 
again  Bell  Hammett  declared  her  intention 


THE   HAMMETTS  195 

of  destroying  herself,  not  this  time  by  starva 
tion,  but  by  the  surer  and  more  rapid  action 
of  the  halter.  She  could  endure  the  vexation 
of  her  husband's  conduct  no  longer,  his 
heartlessness,  his  cutting  speeches,  his  slights 
cast  on  her  character,  the  utter  hopelessness 
of  relief  in  this  world. 

Snatching  at  a  stout  rope,  she  flung  from 
the  room,  declaring  that  she  would  hang  her 
self  from  the  apple  tree  behind  the  pig-sty, 
and  that  she  laid  her  life  to  the  account  of 
Job,  who  had  taken  from  her  existence  every 
thing  that  could  make  it  tolerable.  With  her 
bosom  rising  and  falling  and  her  heart  in  a 
tumult,  a  fire  in  her  brain,  Bell  threw  the 
door  to  behind  her  and  strode  across  the 
back  court. 

The  pig,  hearing  her  step,  grunted. 

"  No — no  wash.  You  have  had  it ! "  said 
Mrs.  Hammett,  bitterly.  "And  who  will 
give  you  the  pail  to-morrer,  goodness 
only  knows."  She  halted  for  a  moment. 
"  And  what  nastiness  Job  may  put  into  the 
pail  for  you,  that  also  goodness  only 
knows." 

In  the  still  evening  air  the  savour  of  the 
sty  was  strong. 

Bell  passed  the  door,  and  thought — "  For 
the  last  time  I  smell  a  pig-sty.  There'll  be 


196  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

no  pigs  where  I'm  going."  Then  she  stepped 
back  for  another  whiff,  not  that  the  savour 
of  a  sty  is  particularly  agreeable,  but  man 
values  what  he  is  about  to  lose  and  never, 
never,  never  regain. 

"  I  shall  eat  none  o'  your  black  puddings," 
said  Mrs.  Hammett  as  the  pig  again  grunted. 
"  Job  '11  have  'em  all,  and  enjoy  'em — dis- 
gustin'." 

She  went  out  to  the  apple  tree,  and  threw 
the  end  of  the  rope  over  the  only  limb  avail 
able. 

"  Now,"  said  she,  "  I  don't  see  clear  how 
to  do  it.  I  must  have  a  barrel  out  to  stand 
upon.  I  niver  did  it  afore,  and  so  it  don't 
come  nat'ral  like." 

She  went  to  an  outhouse  where  was  an 
empty  cask,  and  with  some  difficulty  re 
moved  it  from  the  lumber  that  encumbered 
it,  and  trundled  it  out  through  the  court  to 
the  apple  tree. 

"I  wonder  whether  the  branch  will  hold," 
said  Bell.  "  I  mind  last  year  there  was  such 
a  sight  o'  apples  in  some  orchards  that  the 
boughs  broke." 

She  planted  the  cask  in  position,  but  now 
found  a  difficulty  in  mounting  it.  The  cask 
being  light  and  she  being  heavy,  it  upset 
with  her  when  she  attempted  to  scramble  to 


THE   HAMMETTS  197 

the  top.     To  spring  cat-like  on  to  the  end 
was  beyond  her  powers. 

"  I'll  go  and  get  a  stool,"  she  said  ;  "  I'll 
niver  get  up  on  end  of  thickey  barrel  no 
other  ways." 

She  returned  to  the  house  with  the  rope 
round  her  neck;  being  a  tidy  woman  she 
held  up  the  end,  and  did  not  allow  it  to 
draggle. 

Job  had  lighted  his  pipe,  planted  himself 
in  front  of  the  fire,  with  his  knees  expanded, 
hands  also,  absorbing  as  much  of  the  heat 
as  he  well  could.  He  had  the  fire  all  to 
himself. 

He  looked  round,  and  without  removing 
the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  thrust  it  with  his 
tongue  into  one  corner  and  said  with  the 
other — 

"  What,  not  hanged  yet  ?  " 

"  I  can't  wi'out  the  steppin'  stool,"  she 
replied.  "And,  Job,  mind  the  curing  of 
the  pig ;  it's  three  weeks  in  salt,  and  unless 
you  turn  the  sides  ivery  day  and  pour  the 
brine  over,  they'll  niver  keep." 

"All  right,"  said  Job.  "Go  on  and  hang 
yourself.  I'll  mind  the  pig." 

"  You  bowld  unfeelin'  pay  cock  !  "  said 
Bell  in  a  rage,  and  swung  out  of  the  house, 
carrying  the  stool.  On  reaching  the  apple 


198  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

tree  she  placed  the  stool  beside  the  barrel, 
and  after  a  couple  of  ineffectual  efforts,  man 
aged  to  balance  herself  on  the  cask-head. 
Then  she  threw  the  end  of  the  halter  over 
the  bough,  and,  laying  hold  of  the  end  of 
the  rope,  jumped  off. 

Her  weight  whisked  the  cord  end  out  of 
her  hand  at  once,  and  she  came  down  in  a  sit 
ting  posture,  much  shaken,  under  the  barrel. 

Jarred,  frightened,  hurt,  she  gasped,  and 
found  her  husband  standing  over  her,  en 
gaged  in  releasing  her  neck  from  the  halter. 

He  was  still  smoking. 

"  You  stoopid  !  "  said  he.  "  Don't'y  know 
that  I've  promised  to  take  the  calf  to  your 
butcher  to  Shaugh  to-morrow?  I  shall 
want  the  halter  for  that." 

Mrs.  Hammett  sprang  up  with  an  ex 
clamation. 

"  What,  Job  !  You  corned  out  here  not 
to  save  me  from  death,  but  to  get  the  ou'd 
halter  for  the  calf!  I'll  teach  you  to  valy 
your  wife  so  little." 

She  had  the  halter  off  her  neck  in  a 
moment,  had  laid  hold  of  Job  with  one 
hand,  and  was  belabouring  him  with  the 
rope  with  the  other. 

She  was  the  stoutest  of  the  two,  altogether 
the  best  man  of  the  two. 


THE   HAMMETTS  199 

Job  danced,  writhed,  entreated,  swore — in 
vain.  The  cord  whirled  and  fell.  He 
winced  and  struggled  and  screamed — "Let 
go,  Bell ! " 

"  Let  go !  indeed.  So  you  came  after  the 
rope ;  not  because  you  loved  and  valyed 
your  wife,  but  because  you  wanted  it  for  the 
calf.  I'll  teach  you  to  love  and  valy  your 
wife." 

"I  do !  I  do !  "  shrieked  Job,  capering. 
"  Oh,  Bell,  you  hurts  terrible.  Oh,  don't. 
I'm  cruel  tinder  about  the  loins." 

"  I  will — till  you  ses  you  came  out  of  love 
— out  of  love — and  nothing  else." 

"  Oh,  I  did  !  out  of  love  —  love  —  and 
nothing  else.  Strike  me  dead  if  I  didn't." 

"  And  valy  me  !  " 

"And  valy  you  above  fine  gold." 

"  Love  and  valy — both  !  " 

"  Love  and  valy !  "  repeated  Job. 

"  And  ever  will !  " 

"  Till  death  !  "  said  Job. 

He  kept  his  word.  He  could  not  help  it. 
If  he  showed  at  any  time  a  tendency  to 
deviate,  to  allude  to  the  butcher,  to  warble 
a  certain  strain,  to  contradict,  to  be  dirty  in 
his  person,  untidy  in  his  proceedings,  insub 
ordinate  in  thought  or  word  or  act,  Bell 
looked  up  at  a  cord  that  hung  from  a  nail 


200  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

and  might  have  been  mistaken  for  a  bell- 
rope,  and  Job  returned  to  the  path  of  docility 
and  amiability  at  once.  So  the  latter  end  of 
this  married  career  was  better  than  its  begin 
ning  or  middle. 


JOLLY  LANE   COT 

GEORGE  HANNAFORD  was  as  fine  an 
"  up-standing "  young  man  as  any  on 
Dartmoor.  Not  that  he  lived  on  the  moor. 
On  the  contrary,  his  home  was  at  Walk- 
ampton,  on  the  edge  of  the  moor,  but  he 
worked  throughout  the  week  at  a  mine  in 
Swincombe  where  tin  was  found,  and  re 
turned  home  every  night  when  the  week's 
labour  was  over,  unless  the  weather  was 
very  bad  or  very  fine,  and  then  he  slept 
at  Swincombe  in  an  outhouse,  should  the 
whether  be  cold,  and  under  a  rock  in  the 
open  air,  should  the  weather  be  warm. 
The  distance  was  not  in  reality  very  great — 
not  more  than  eight  miles;  but  then,  for 
one  half  of  the  way  there  was  bald  moor 
to  traverse  without  a  track,  and  should  the 
waste  be  enveloped  in  dense  fog,  should 
rain  be  descending  in  streams,  the  direction 
might  easily  be  lost,  and  George  wander 
for  miles  out  of  his  proper  course. 


201 


202  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

Moreover,  eight  miles  after  a  hard  day's 
work  is  like  the  last  straw  to  a  camel's 
back;  and  eight  miles  taken  homeward  on 
Saturday  evening  implied  eight  miles  in  the 
early  hours  of  Monday  morning,  perhaps 
through  streaming  rain,  with  a  hard  day's 
work  after  it. 

But  this  may  explain  why  in  very  bad 
weather  George  Hannaford  did  not  return 
for  the  Sunday  to  his  home,  and  yet  leave 
unexplained  why  he  often  failed  in  fine 
weather. 

The  reason  had  to  be  sought  in  Brown- 
berry,  an  ancient  tenement  on  the  Ashburton 
road,  occupied  by  a  farmer  named  Yole 
under  the  Poor  of  Brixham,  who  were  his 
landlord. 

In  Yole's  employ  was  a  fresh,  well-built 
girl  of  the  name  of  Eastlake.  She  was  not 
a  moor  girl  exactly,  but  came  from  Holne, 
a  parish  contiguous  on  the  moor — one, 
indeed,  that  had  a  large  tract  of  common 
land  on  the  moor,  but  not  the  "forest." 

George  Hannaford  had  cast  an  eye  on 
Martha  Eastlake.  If  he  remained  in  Swin- 
combe  over  a  Sunday,  it  was  certainly  rather 
for  the  sake  of  having  a  walk  and  a  talk 
with  Martha,  than  because  he  was,  afraid  of 
bad  weather  and  losing  himself  on  the  moor. 


JOLLY   LANE   COT  203 

That  George  Hannaford  should  marry  the 
girl  did  not  suit  the  minds  of  several  persons 
— not,  for  one,  of  her  master  Yole,  who 
found  the  girl  handy,  willing,  and  industri 
ous,  and  had  no  wish  to  lose  her  through 
marriage  or  any  other  way ;  not,  for  two, 
of  Hannaford's  captain,  for  he  thought  that 
should  the  young  man  marry,  as  there  was 
no  house  available  on 'the  moors  into  which 
he  could  carry  his  bride,  his  bride  would 
carry  him  away  somewhere  else,  and  he 
would  lose  the  most  valuable  man  he  had 
in  the  mine ;  not,  for  three,  of  Simon 
Simms  the  moorman,  who  had  set  his  will 
on  the  winning  of  Martha.  A  moorman  is 
a  man  who  has  taken  a  quarter  of  the  moor 
from  the  Duchy  of  Cornwall,  and  is 
responsible  for  the  sheep  and  cattle  turned 
out  upon  the  waste  to  pasture  and  graze 
through  the  summer.  Every  parish  that 
is  contiguous  on  Dartmoor  has  what  are 
termed  "  venville  "  rights,  the  right  to  feed 
sheep  and  oxen  and  horses  on  the  moor, 
the  right  to  cut  turf  for  fuel,  and  take  stone 
for  building.  Properly,  Dartmoor  belongs 
to  all  Devonshire,  but  the  Duchy  has  en 
deavoured,  and  endeavoured  successfully, 
to  cut  away  the  rights  of  all  parishes  to 
go  to  the  moor  for  what  is  wanted,  except- 


204  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

ing  only  such  as  immediately  adjoin  the 
moor. 

Forest  rights  were  granted  to  Edward  the 
Black  Prince  on  Dartmoor — that  is  to  say, 
it  was  to  be  a  chase  for  the  Princes  of 
Wales  for  ever,  where  they  might  enjoy  the 
hunting  of  the  red  deer  without  prejudice 
to  the  communities  which  possessed  rights 
of  pasturage,  and  of  taking  from  the  moor 
everything  they  required  except  vert;  that 
is  to  say,  green  oak  and  venison. 

The  Duchy  of  Cornwall,  held  by  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  now  claims  much  more  ex 
tended  rights  than  were  granted  it ;  it  claims 
these  in  virtue  of  holding  the  lordship  of  the 
Manor — when  acquired,  unknown — and  it 
endeavours  by  all  means  to  extend  these 
claims  to  land  that  is  in  the  purlieus  of  the 
"  forest." 

The  forest  of  Dartmoor — a  forest  without 
trees — is  divided  into  four  quarters,  and 
over  each  quarter  is  placed  a  moorman. 
The  venville  tenants  turn  out  their  ponies, 
bullocks,  and  sheep  on  the  commons,  and 
the  moormen  demand  a  certain  sum  for 
every  beast  thus  turned  out.  The  sum  is 
small,  and  the  moorman  undertakes  in  re 
turn  that  the  beast  shall  be  recoverable,  and 
that  no  wilful  damage  shall  be  done  to  it. 


JOLLY   LANE   COT  205 

Now  the  Duchy  exercises  the  right  of 
"  Drift,"  that  is  to  say,  without  given 
warning  to  drive  ponies  or  bullocks  to  some 
pound  in  the  quarters  of  the  moor  where 
the  drift  is  carried  on,  and  there  the  venville 
tenants  demand  their  beasts,  and  others  pay  a 
fine  for  their  beasts  being  found  on  the  moor. 

But  the  Duchy  is  not  content  with 
driving  the  forest  proper,  and  it  makes 
claims,  that  are  stoutly  resisted,  to  drive  the 
drift  on  the  tracts  of  moorland  that  surround 
the  forest  proper. 

Simon  Simms  was  moorman  for  the 
south-eastern  quarter.  He  resolved — or  the 
hint  was  given  him  from  higher  quarters  to 
try — to  drive  the  Holne  moors.  Accord 
ingly,  suddenly,  unexpectedly,  one  morning, 
to  the  braying  of  a  great  horn,  Simms  and  a 
number  of  men  he  had  collected  appeared 
on  the  moors  of  the  Parish  of  Holne  to  drive 
them,  and  exact  a  fine  for  every  head  of 
cattle  found  thereon.  This  created  at  once 
resentment  among  the  farmers  and  little  men 
of  Holne,  and  they  turned  out  in  great  num 
bers  to  resist  the  Duchy  officers. 

Now  whether  it  was  because  Martha 
Eastlake  was  a  Holne  girl,  or  whether  it  was 
because  George  was  a  Walkampton  man, 
with  a  hereditary  grudge  against  the 


206  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

encroaching  Duchy,  or  whether  it  was  that 
Simon  Simms  being  on  one  side,  George 
Hannaford  out  of  purposeful  opposition 
took  the  other,  I  cannot  say ;  but  directly  it 
was  bruited  at  Swincombe  that  Simms  was 
driving  Holne  Moor,  and  that  the  Holne 
farmers  were  out  to  resist  the  drift,  a  party 
of  Holne  miners,  and  Hannaford  with  them, 
hasted  to  the  scene  of  contest  to  defend  the 
rights  of  the  commoners  and  repel  the 
invaders.  A  sharp  engagement  ensued, 
in  which  sticks  and  whips  and  even  pistols 
were  used. 

In  the  affray,  Hannaford  sprang  at  the 
bridle  of  Simms'  horse,  and  endeavoured  to 
thrust  the  moorman  back ;  his  foot  slipped 
in  the  scuffle,  and  Simms  deliberately  rode 
over  him. 

He  was  rescued,  with  leg  and  thigh 
broken. 

Months  elapsed  before  he  was  able  to 
resume  work,  and  then  was  left  to  a  slight 
extent  lame.  He  never  after  wholly  re 
covered  the  breaking  of  his  thigh. 

Simon  seized  the  opportunity  whilst 
Hannaford  was  laid  by  to  make  his  offer 
to  Martha,  and  he  was  mortified  and 
incensed  by  her  refusal  of  him. 

The  conduct  of  Hannaford  in  the  affair 


JOLLY   LANE   COT  207 

of  Holne  Moor  Drift  was  not  favourably 
viewed  by  the  farmers  on  the  forest.  Hav 
ing  vast  rights  on  the  moor,  they  desired 
with  pardonable  selfishness  to  reserve  these 
to  themselves,  and  to  extend  the  area  over 
which  they  could  turn  out  their  cattle.  Ac 
cordingly  they  were  heartily  in  sympathy 
with  the  Duchy  attempt  to  extend  its  rights 
over  the  contiguous  commons. 

Hannaford  had  interfered  in  an  uncalled- 
for  manner.  Moreover,  he  had  been  the 
occasion  of  a  slight  being  offered  to  Simms, 
by  a  girl  who  should  have  been  thankful  to 
pick  up  his  whip  for  him  when  he  dropped  it. 

No  sooner  was  Hannaford  well  than  he 
resumed  work  at  the  mine,  and  attendance 
on  the  girl  Eastlake.  His  lameness  pre 
cluded  his  walking  home  to  Walkampton, 
and  he  sought  for  lodgings  in  some  of  the 
cottages — they  were  few  and  far  between 
— and  had  much  difficulty  in  obtaining 
shelter. 

He  had  his  and  Martha's  banns  called  at 
Walkampton  and  Holne  Church,  and  to 
enable  the  latter  to  be  done,  Martha  trotted 
home  every  night  for  two  weeks  to  sleep  at 
her  father's  house.  For  the  forest  of  Dart- 
moor  is  in  the  parish  of  Lydford,  and  the 
church  at  Lydford  is  something  like  sixteen 


208  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

miles  from  the  farm  in  which  Martha  was 
working.  It  was  well  enough  to  prepare  to 
be  married,  but,  when  married,  where  were 
they  to  live  ?  Hannaford  was  earning  good 
wages  at  Swincombe,  and  did  not  desire 
to  leave  his  employment.  There  was  abso 
lutely  no  house  available  in  the  neighbour 
hood.  There  was  no  chance  of  obtaining  a 
bit  of  land  from  the  farmers,  on  their  tene 
ments,  for  they  were  all  opposed  to  having  a 
new  settler  among  them.  To  think  of  ask 
ing  leave  of  building  on  Duchy  land  did  not 
occur  to  George.  He  knew  that  Simon 
Simms  would  oppose  that  by  every  means  in 
his  power. 

What,  then,  could  George  Hannaford 
do? 

The  banns  were  called  on  three  Sundays 
running,  and  unless  the  marriage  followed 
within  three  months,  then  the  banns  must  be 
called  again. 

What,  then,  was  to  be  done  ? 

Birds  cannot  mate  without  a  nest ;  and 
man  and  woman  cannot  marry  without  a 
home.  Yole  desired  to  retain  Martha  at 
Brownberry,  and  threw  difficulties  in  the  way. 
Like  a  simpleton,  she  had  not  given  due 
notice  of  leaving,  consequently  she  was  held 
to  service  for  a  month.  The  captain  at 


JOLLY  LANE  COT  209 

Swincombe  suddenly  advanced  Hannaford 
and  increased  his  pay.  He  urged  him  on  no 
account  to  leave;  he  held  out  to  him  the 
prospect  of  succeeding  to  the  captainship,  as 
he  himself  was  thinking  of  going  to  another 
mine. 

The  matter  was  talked  over  among  the 
miners,  among  the  labourers  on  the  moor ; 
it  was  commented  on  among  the  farmers  and 
workpeople  of  Holne,  who  could  not  forget 
that  Hannaford  had  fought  and  suffered  to 
maintain  their  rights.  The  day  of  the  wed 
ding  was  fixed,  and  the  young  couple  had 
not  a  house  to  go  into. 

The  day  was  —  as  it  chanced  —  that  of 
Ashburton  Fair — the  first  Thursday  in  June, 
one  of  the  best  and  most  generally  attended 
fairs  in  the  year. 

A  lovely  June  day — the  sky  cloudless,  the 
air  elastic,  birds  singing,  the  wild  rose — 
crimson — in  full  flush  in  the  hedges. 

The  young  people  walked  to  Holne  to  be 
married,  and  as  they  walked  were  passed  by 
the  moor  farmers  on  their  horses,  or  in  their 
rough  traps,  and  had  to  encounter  many  a 
joke  and  jeer.  It  was  really  too  absurd — 
this  young  miner  hobbling  to  church  to  be 
married  without  having  a  roof  to  offer  his 
bride  to  cover  her  head.  The  ceremony 


210  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

over,  whither  would  they  go  ?  The  burly 
farmers  laughed  as  they  jogged  along,  and 
nearly  fell  from  their  horses,  they  laughed 
so  boisterously. 

The  last  to  pass  was  Simon  Simms,  and 
he  looked  at  the  happy  couple  with  a  malig 
nant  sneer.  Then — no  one  was  on  the 
road. 

And  now  ensued  a  sight  most  remarkable. 

From  every  quarter,  over  down  and  tor, 
along  the  road,  across  new-takes,  came  men 
and  women  all  making  for  one  spot — a  bit 
of  wild  furze-grown  common  a  little  above 
Huckaby  Bridge  over  the  Dart.  The  men 
were  armed  with  picks,  levers,  "  physgies." 
The  women  carried  hoes  and  reaping-hooks. 
Not  a  farmer  was  near,  not  a  Duchy  officer. 

Then  ensued  a  spectacle  of  combined 
activity  and  of  rapid  work  such  as  has  not 
been  seen  on  the  moor  since.  Men  went  to 
the  tors  and  rolled  down  great  stones ;  they 
split  up  such  blocks  as  they  could  not  move ; 
whilst  the  women  reaped  down  the  golden 
furze,  and  dug  up  the  sweet  turf  in  the  form 
of  a  long  parallelogram. 

Next  —  when  a  great  accumulation  of 
stones  had  been  brought  together  by  the 
roadside,  they  were  levered  and  carried  to 
the  spot  cleared  by  the  women,  and  laid  in 


JOLLY   LANE   COT  211 

order  two  by  two,  forming  foundations,  and 
next  a  little  turf  was  inserted  in  place  of 
mortar;  then  again  stones,  rude  and  un- 
shapen,  were  dexterously  fitted  into  place, 
and  walls  sprang  up  as  by  magic.  Space 
was  left  for  a  door,  then  for  windows ;  long 
slabs  of  granite  formed  threshold  and  jambs 
and  lintel. 

And  now — what  is  this  procession  coming 
from  Holne  ?  It  is  a  train  of  men  dragging 
beams,  cut  from  the  Holne  woods  and  rudely 
shaped,  to  serve  for  rafters. 

And  who  are  these  coming  over  the  moor 
with  laughter  and  song  ? 

A  party  this  of  moor-maidens,  who  have 
been  reaping  rushes  wherewith  to  thatch  the 
house,  and  who  come  now  singing  with  the 
bundles  on  their  heads,  on  their  shoulders, 
under  their  arms. 

What  merriment !  What  good-humour ! 
What  hard  toil !  What  indefatigable  labour ! 
— till  all  is  finished.  And  who  are  these  old 
people  coming  in  a  cart  down  the  hill  from 
Brownberry  ?  They  are  strangers  to  this 
region,  they  are  very  old,  very  infirm,  and 
they  are  full  of  amazement  at  what  they  see. 
Who  are  they  ? 

At  this  moment,  from  the  opposite  direc 
tion,  comes  the  young  married  couple.  You 


212  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

cannot  hear  the  Holne  bells,  for  Holne  is  far 
away  ;  but  as  they  come  you  can  hear  the 
cheers  and  the  joyous  shouts  of  men  and 
women  and  children,  welcoming  George 
Hannaford  and  his  wife  Martha  to  their 
house  and  home. 

And  George  runs  to  the  cart  approaching 
from  an  opposite  direction — with  a  shout  to 
welcome  to  their  home  from  the  poor-house 
his  father  and  mother,  whom  he  had  main 
tained  at  Walkampton  by  his  labour.  The 
crowd  with  smiling  faces,  and  the  women 
with  tears — tears  of  pleasure — separates,  and 
forms  a  passage,  down  which  Martha  passes, 
enters  the  door,  goes  to  the  rude  hearth  of 
flat  slabs  of  granite,  and  kindles  there  the 
first  fire. 

Then  rises  a  deafening  cheer.  Not  the 
Duchy,  not  Simon  Simms,  not  all  the 
farmers  on  the  ancient  tenements,  can 
remove  George  Hannaford  and  his  wife 
Martha. 

That  house — built  in  one  day,  occupied 
the  same  night — remains  unaltered  to  the 
present  moment. 

In  Mr.  R.  Burnard's  first  series  of  *  Dart 
moor  Pictorial  Records '  is  a  photograph  of 
the  house,  and  accompanying  this  is  the 
account  of  its  origin. 


JOLLY   LANE   COT  213 

"Jolly  Lane  Cot  is  an  illustration  of  land- 
cribbing  from  the  Duchy  by  one  of  the 
small  fry.  This  picturesque  little  cottage 
was  erected  in  a  single  day,  about  fifty-five 
(now  fifty-nine)  years  ago.  Preparations 
were  made  beforehand  of  the  requisite 
material,  and  taking  advantage  of  the 
absence  of  the  farmers,  who  had  all  gone  off 
to  Ashburton  June  fair,  the  labourers  on  all 
the  country-side  came  down  and  lent  a 
helping  hand,  and  in  one  day  the  walls  were 
up  and  roofed  in,  and  by  nightfall  a  fire 
was  burning  on  the  hearth." 

The  custom  formerly  was,  that  if  land 
could  be  fenced  in,  or  a  house  built  and 
occupied  between  sunrise  and  sunset,  no  one 
could  displace  the  occupants.  And  Jolly 
Lane  Cot  was  the  last  instance  of  this 
custom  being  put  in  force. 


GREEN  RUSHES,  O! 

YOUNG  people — the  rule  is  all  but  invari 
able — run  together  like  globules  of  quick 
silver.  There  is  so  much  mercury  in  their 
veins,  gravitation  is  so  fundamental  a  law  of 
nature.  The  difficulty  is  to  keep  them  apart, 
not  to  bring  them  together. 

But  human  nature  is  capricious.  There 
is  no  hard-and-fast  rule  with  that ;  whatever 
general  law  may  be  thought  to  govern  it, 
exceptions  will  be  found,  and  among  these 
phenomena — these  deviations  from  the  nor 
mal — were  Tom  and  Jenny. 

These  were  just  the  two  who  would  not 
and  could  not  be  brought  together.  Their 
natural  instincts,  not  inclinations,  drove  them 
apart,  and  not  all  the  efforts  of  well-meaning 
friends  and  relatives,  not  all  the  thrusting 
and  nudging  in  the  world,  appeared  likely  to 
give  the  impulse  to  these  two  to  make  them 
come  together  as  they  ought,  and  as  they 
wished. 

215 


216  DARTMOOR    IDYLLS 

There  was  the  oddness  of  the  situation — 
it  lay  in  the  last  words  of  my  last  sentence. 
As  they  wished.  Tom  had  the  greatest  ad 
miration  for  Jenny,  but  it  was  so  excessive 
that  he  was  shy  of  being  with  her — he  adored 
her,  but  from  a  distance;  and  Jenny  con 
sidered  that  there  was  no  young  man  in  the 
universe  so  far  as  she  knew  it — and  she  knew 
no  more  of  it  than  is  comprised  within  the 
bounds  of  the  forest  of  Dartmoor — no  young 
man  at  all  worthy  of  being  desired,  like  unto 
Tom ;  but  then  so  great  was  her  respect  for 
him  that — she  ran  away  from  him.  If  the 
two  passed  on  the  high-road,  an  awkward 
salutation  was  all  they  accorded  each  other — 
a  grunt  and  a  slouch  of  one  shoulder  from 
Tom,  a  movement  of  the  lips  to  form  the 
words  'How  do'y  do  now,  Tom?'  from 
Jenny,  but  not  the  words  themselves.  If  it 
should  so  happen  that  Tom  saw  Jenny  ahead 
of  him,  walking  along  in  the  same  direction, 
then  not  all  the  king's  horses  nor  all  the 
king's  men  could  draw  on  Tom  to  hasten 
his  steps  and  catch  her  up.  On  the  contrary, 
he  immediately  jumped  a  wall,  ran  over  a 
field,  jumped  another,  made  a  vast  loop  of 
at  least  a  mile,  always  at  the  run,  and  came 
out  on  the  road  again  half-a-mile  ahead  of 
Jenny. 


GREEN   RUSHES,   O!  217 

Now  it  happens  that  on  Dartmoor  there 
is  a  little  church  near  the  Dart,  newly  con 
structed,  in  which  a  curate  ministers  once  a 
Sunday.  Precisely  because  Jenny  went  there 
for  her  devotions,  not  moved  by  any  theo 
logical  differences  and  doctrinal  scruples, 
Tom  frequented  the  Bible  Christian  chapel. 
He  had  on  one  occasion  been  played  a  trick 
on  leaving  the  little  church.  The  congrega 
tion,  seeing  him  issue  from  the  sacred  door 
alongside  of  Jenny,  immediately  fell  apart ; 
some  hurried  forward,  some  hung  back,  with 
the  kindest  sympathy  possible,  to  allow  of 
Tom  offering  his  arm — at  all  events  his 
company  — to  Jenny  on  their  way  back  to 
their  several  homes,  which  were  close  to 
each  other.  But  this  consideration  on  the 
part  of  the  fellow-worshippers  in  the  church 
so  agitated  Jenny,  and  so  alarmed  Tom, 
that  she  ran  and  clung  to  the  side  of 
a  farmer's  wife  going  her  way,  and  Tom 
turned  tail  altogether,  and  walked  to  Holne 
in  a  direction  diametrically  opposite  to  that 
which  he  must  ultimately  pursue. 

There  can  be  no  question  but  that,  as  a 
general  rule,  we  are  all  inclined  to  believe  to 
be  true  that  which  we  hope  to  be  true.  But 
there  are  exceptions  to  this  rule  also,  and 
precisely  Tom  and  Jenny  proved  exceptions. 


2i8  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

What  was  obvious  to  every  one  else,  what 
was  certain  to  every  one  else,  was  precisely 
that  on  which  each  was  sceptical.  All  the 
neighbours  knew  that  Tom  was  madly  in 
love  with  Jenny,  and  that  Jenny  could  fancy 
no  other  lad  than  Tom ;  that,  not  to  put 
too  fine  a  point  on  it,  they  were  cut  out 
for  each  other,  and  for  no  one  else.  But 
this  was  what  neither  could  be  induced  to 
believe. 

There  was  absolutely  no  impediment  why 
these  two  should  not  be  joined  together  in 
holy  matrimony.  The  banns  might  have 
been  proclaimed  from  the  top  of  every  tor, 
and  no  one  would  have  forbidden  them. 
On  the  contrary,  they  would  have  been  hailed 
with  acclamation.  The  only  impediment 
existed  in  themselves ;  they  would  not  come 
together. 

Tom  was  an  active,  industrious  man,  a 
miner  at  Vitifer,  who  came  up  out  of  the 
shaft  red  and  rosy  in  garb  as  well  as  in  face 
from  the  tin  ore;  he  earned  his  sixteen 
shillings  a  week,  and  had  a  little  cabin  of  his 
father's  construction  in  which  he  lived  with 
his  sister,  near  the  King's  Oven,  where  in 
ancient  days  the  tin  was  run  into  blocks  and 
stamped  with  the  royal  mark. 

Jenny  was  the  last  remaining  maiden  in  a 


GREEN   RUSHES,   O!  219 

wooden  barrack  erected  by  the  proprietor  of 
the  Vitifer  mine,  about  which  barrack  a  word 
must  be  said.  When  a  new  lease  had  been 
taken  of  the  tin  rights  at  the  head  of  the 
Webb  urn,  then  a  long  shanty  of  wood,  tarred 
black,  had  been  erected  by  the  manager,  who 
had  considered  that  girls  might  very  well  be 
employed  in  sorting  ore.  He  had  engaged  a 
dozen  and  a  half,  and  had  lodged  them  in 
this  shanty  under  the  supervision  of  a  re 
spectable  matron.  But  the  scheme  broke 
down,  because  human  blood  is  of  the  nature 
of  quicksilver ;  the  miners  and  the  maids 
ran  together  and  made  pairs,  and  there  were 
marriages  one  after  another,  till  within  a 
twelvemonth  the  shanty  was  cleared  of  all 
the  lasses  except  Jenny  ;  and  the  matron  had 
no  other  work  to  do  than  look  after  Jenny, 
who  of  all  girls  least  needed  looking  after,  for 
she  ran  away  from  the  only  man  for  whom  she 
cared,  yet  not  half  so  fast  as  he  did  from 
her.  ' 

Now  Tom's  sister  was  impatient  to  get 
away.  She  did  not  love  the  life  on  the 
moor;  she  desired  above  all  things  to  take 
a  situation  in  Torquay,  which  is  as  lively 
a  place  as  invalids  can  make  it ;  and  con 
sumptive  people  have  more  craving  for 
excitement  and  amusement  of  eveiy  kind 


220  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

than  those  who  are  healthy.  Such  is 
human  nature. 

The  frolicsome  invalids  who  frequent 
Torquay  have  made  it  a  very  elysium  for 
house  and  parlour  maids;  and  Tom's 
sister  had  before  her  the  golden  dream  of 
a  lively  winter  at  Torquay,  and  a  sleepy 
summer  there,  when  the  invalids  are 
departed,  arid  the  servants  have  nothing 
else  to  do  than  disport  themselves  on  parade 
and  lounge,  and  to  boat  and  carry  on  with 
the  boatmen  and  railway  porters. 

Moreover,  the  matron  at  the  shanty  was 
impatient.  The  manager  of  the  Vitifer 
mine  was  impatient.  The  former  desired  to 
be  in  some  prospering  concern,  and  not  a 
failing  one  like  the  barrack  for  maidens ;  and 
the  latter  did  not  see  the  advantage  of 
paying  and  maintaining  one  whole  matron, 
of  expensive  respectability,  for  the  sake  of 
one  girl  only. 

Consequently,  it  would  oblige  and  relieve 
three  persons  if  only  Tom  and  Jenny  would 
come  together.  But  they  were  willing  and 
prompt  to  do — -just  anything  but  that. 

Jenny  was  an  orphan;  had  no  one  to 
consult  but  herself.  Tom  was  without 
parents ;  he  had  no  one  to  consult  but 
himself.  "Why  the  dickens  should  they 


GREEN   RUSHES,   O!  221 

not  make  a  match  of  it  ?  "  every  one  asked  ; 
but  no  one  could  give  an  answer,  except 
the  captain  of  the  mine,  who,  quoting 
Artemus  Ward,  said  :  "  It's  downright 
sheer  cussedness  and  nothink  else." 

What  on  earth  prevented  Tom  and 
Jenny  from  speaking  to  each  other  right  out 
of  their  hearts  ?  Precisely  because  each  felt 
so  strange  in  his  or  her  soul,  or  heart,  or 
mind,  or  all  three  together,  that  neither  quite 
knew  what  was  the  matter.  Only  now  and 
then,  on  the  still  moor,  when  the  sun  was 
shining,  and  the  blue  shadows — blue  as 
cobalt — lay  motionless  on  the  distant  hills, 
and  Tom  had  stolen  away  from  his  mates  to 
eat  his  dinner  alone  in  the  heather,  did  he 
lean  his  head  in  his  hand  and  say :  '•  Darn 
it  all,  I  can't  get  her  out  of  my  mind." 

And  only  when  Jenny  went  to  her  bed, 
and  laid  her  head  on  her  pillow,  did  she  sigh 
out  to  herself:  "Oh  dear!  I  do  like  Tom 
tremendous !  " 

Each  took  the  most  elaborate  precautions 
to  conceal  from  other  eyes  what  was  in  their 
minds.  Neither  mentioned  the  other's  name, 
and  if  a  third  spoke  it  out,  then  Tom  or 
Jenny,  whichever  it  was  who  heard  the 
other  spoken  of,  had  a  flutter  of  the  heart, 
and  a  colour  in  the  cheek,  and  looked  away 


222  DARTMOOR    IDYLLS 

from  the  speaker,,  as  if  what  was  said  did 
not  interest  at  all,  and  yet  listened  with  both 
ears.  This  went  on  for  a  whole  year,  and 
each  confidently  believed  that  no  one  had 
the  smallest  conception  of  the  love  that 
consumed  each  heart.  But  it  was  perhaps 
because  each  rather  overdid  it  that  every  one 
came  to  know  of  it. 

Then,  at  once,  all  set  to  work  to  bring  the 
two  lovers  together.  Most  earnest  in  her 
endeavours  was  Joanna,  the  sister  of  Tom. 
At  one  time  she  had  disliked  Jenny  for  no 
particular  reason,  but  now  she  cultivated 
her  acquaintance,  invited  her  to  the  cottage, 
walked  with  her,  and  wormed  her  way  into 
her  affections.  Then  all  at  once  out  popped 
the  words :  "  I  say,  Jenny,  you  are  cruel 
fond  of  my  brother  Tom,  bain't  you  now  ?  " 

"I — I — I Get    along!'7    answered 

Jenny,  flushing  to  the  temples. 

"  You  need  not  deny  it,"  said  Joanna ;  u  I 
have  eyes  as  well  as  another,  and  I  can  see 
it  as  distinct  as  I  can  the  rocks  on  old 
Believer  Tor.  You're  terrible  took  up  wi' 
my  brother  Tom." 

"  It  bain't  true,"  answered  Jenny,  the  tears 
of  vexation  filling  her  eyes.  "  It's  a  scandal 
to  say  such  drashy  stuff." 

"  It  is   true ;    and  what    I    know  also  is, 


GREEN   RUSHES,   O!  223 

that  Tom  worships  the  very  ground  you 
tread." 

"  That's  false/'  answered  Jenny  ;  "  for  he 
rins  away  from  me  wheniver  he  sees  me,  jist 
for  all  the  world  as  if  I  were  a  long-cripple 
(viper)." 

"  He  does  love  you,  I  vow  and  protest." 

"  He's  got  a  queer  way  o'  showing  it, 
then,"  retorted  Jenny,  and  that  was,  Joanna 
was  fain  to  admit  it  to  herself,  an  unanswer 
able  argument  against  her  proposition. 

After  this  conversation  Jenny  kept  away 
from  Joanna ;  their  friendship  had  had  a 
douche  of  cold  water  thrown  on  it,  and  she 
would  neither  walk  with  her  nor  salute  her. 
As  she  said  to  the  matron,  Joanna  had  insulted 
her. 

After  a  lapse  of  three  weeks  matters  were 
patched  up  between  them,  and  Joanna  again 
broached  the  subject.  Again  Jenny  refused 
to  be  convinced.  As  she  said  to  herself: 
"  What  am  I  ?  I'm  nought  but  a  poor 
maid  that  ha'n't  got  no  belongings.  I've 
been  left  behind  when  all  the  other  maidens 
got  married,  'cos  none  would  have  me ;  and 
there  is  Tom,  as  straight  and  stiff  a  chap  as 
any  in  the  works,  and  has  laid  by  a  lot  o' 
money,  folks  say — and  there  aren't  one  of 
the  mining  boys  as  has  married  is  fit  to  hold 


224  DARTMOOR    IDYLLS 

a  candle  to  him.  Git  along  with  yourself 
for  an  idjot,  Jenny,  for  thinkin'  he  can  care 
a  fardin'  for  you." 

Joanna  also  attacked  her  brother.  "  Tom," 
said  she,  "  here  am  I  slavin'  as  a  nigger,  and 
all  for  no  wages  but  pure  love,  and,  as  you 
know  very  well,  I  want  to  be  off  into  service 
to  Torquay.  You  are  holding  me  here  on 
to  this  desolate  moor,  where  one  sees  no 
faces  lookin'  in  at  the  winder  but  that  of  a 
bullock  or  a  sheep  or  a  Dartmoor  colt,  and 
I  wants  to  be  off — terrible.  You're  aged 
twenty-seven,  and  ought  to  be  married,  a 
great  hulkin'  chap  like  you.  If  you'd  the 
feelin's  of  a  man,  you'd  die  o'  shame !  " 

"  Shame  at  what,  Jonah  ?  "  He  called  her 
Jonah  as  the  short  for  Joanna. 

"  A  chap  o'  twenty-seven  and  not  married ! 
I  say   it's  reg'lar  scandalous ;    and    all   the 
county  cries  shame  on  you." 
"  But  who'd  have  me-? " 
"  Why — bless  the  boy ! — Jenny." 
Then  Tom  turned  away  from  his  sister, 
and  went  out  to  wash  himself  of  the  pink 
soil  that  was  on  his  hands  from  the  tin  mine ; 
and  as  he  washed  he  said  to  himself :  "  Jenny 
have   me!      The   prettiest,   tidiest,   peartest 
(liveliest)  maiden  was  iver  seen  since  Eve ! 
A  chap  like  me — all  mucky  with  chrome 


GREEN   RUSHES,   O!  225 

and  clay.  Git  along  for  an  idjot,  Tom,  for 
thinking  such  things." 

This  did  not  answer.  Then  the  manager 
of  the  Vitifer  mine  took  the  matter  in  hand  ; 
so  did  the  matron  of  the  shanty.  The  master 
said  to  one  of  the  miners  who  was  single : 
"  Bill  Hawk,  I  wish  you'd  do  me  a  favour, 
and  I'll  give  you  five  bob." 

"Yes,  sir;  what  is  it?" 

66  Look  here,  Bill ;  I  want  you  to  walk  out 
that  girl  Jenny,  gallivant  with  her  a  bit, 
and " 

"But,  sir,  I'm  taking  on  with  Mary  Bolt, 
down  to  Chagford." 

"  Never  mind — only  just  for  a  bit.  There 
is  that  confounded  fool  Tom  won't  see  that 
he  must  have  Jenny;  and  if  we  can  make 
him  jealous,  it  might  work." 

Bill  Hawk  considered  a  moment  and  said  : 
"Well,  sir,  if  Mary  Bolt  was  to  hear  on 
it,  she'd  be  in  a  dowse  of  a  rampage ;  but 
if  you'll  make  it  seven  and  six,  I'll  try  it 


on." 


"  I  don't  object  to  another  half-crown,  Bill. 
So  be  it." 

On  her  part  the  matron  invited  a  niece 
to  the  barrack,  a  very  lively,  dark-eyed  witch 
of  a  girl,  and  she  brought  her  over  to  the 
cottage  of  Joanna,  who  at  once  took  to  her 
and  contrived  means  of  throwing  her  and 

Q 


226  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

Tom  together,  and  the  matron  and  her 
niece  talked  much  of  Tom  and  his  nice 
cottage,  and  his  garden,  and  his  savings, 
before  Jenny.  But  this  also  failed.  Jenny 
would  not  be  walked  out  by  Bill  Hawk, 
would  not  say  a  word  to  him ;  and  the  niece 
had  not  a  chance  with  Tom,  who,  if  he  saw 
her  in  the  cottage,  made  a  run  and  went  off 
elsewhere.  So  passed  another  year.  The 
matron  had  given  notice,  and  the  barrack 
was  to  be  closed ;  Jenny  would  be  obliged  to 
shift  for  herself,  and  whither  should  she  go  ? 
Joanna  had  become  desperate,  pining  for  the 
frolics  of  Torquay,  and  had  announced  to 
her  brother  that  she  had  engaged  herself  in 
a  situation,  and  that  he  must  shift  for  him 
self  ;  she  was  not  going  to  be  an  "  exile  of 
Siberia," not  for  him  nor  any  one — not  another 
winter.  If  he  wouldn't  marry 

"Then  I  must  take  a  housekeeper,"  said 
Tom. 

His  sister  stood  back  aghast. 

"A  housekeeper!  You,  an  unmarried 
man !  A  housekeeper  !  Goodness  gracious 
me !  what  is  the  world  coming  to  ?  " 

"  If  she's  old  and  ugly,"  protested  Tom. 

"No  woman  does  think  herself  old  and 
ugly.  She  will  lay  traps  and  snap  you  up. 
Goodness  gracious  me !  Here's  a  fine  kettle 
of  fish  !  " 


GREEN   RUSHES,   O!  227 

"  What  else  can  I  do  ? "  asked  Tom 
despairingly. 

"  Marry,"  answered  Joanna. 

"It  takes  two  to  do  that,"  said  Tom 
disconsolately. 

"  Yes,  of  course  it  does.  It  doesn't  take 
three,  nor  four,  nor  half-a-dozen,  but  two 
only.  Go  and  speak  to  Jenny/' 

"  She  runs  away  from  me." 

"  Run  after  her." 

Tom  shook  his  head  and  walked  away. 

"Tom,"  said  the  captain  of  the  Vitifer 
mine,  "  I  want  you  to  do  a  job  for  me 
to-day." 

"  What's  that,  cap  n  ? " 

"  We  must  have  the  shed  thatched  afore 
the  fall-rains  come  on,  and  I've  borrowed 
Potter's  wagon.  I  want  you  to  go  up  by 
Cranmere  and  get  me  rushes,  green  rushes, 
to  have  it  properly  roofed  in.  It  ought  to 
have  been  done  last  year,  but  there  were 
other  things  coming  on,  and  there  had  been 
such  a  lot  of  rain  that  the  bogs  were  well- 
nigh  impassable.  But  this  year  we  have  had 
such  drith  (dryness)  that  you  can  get  out  a 
long  way.  Potter  can't  let  us  have  a  man, 
but  we  are  welcome  to  the  wagon." 

"Yes,  sir,  I'll  do  it.  But  I  must  have 
some  one  with  me  to  load." 


228  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

"I  know.  Potter  will  let  us  have  Joe 
Leaman,  the  boy ;  he'll  do,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes ;  any  boy,  or  girl  either,  would  do 
for  that.  It  is  only  to  pack  the  rushes  in  the 
cart  as  I  chuck  'em  up." 

"  Very  well,  take  Joe." 

Accordingly,  that  day — a  lovely  day  it  was 
— Tom  went  to  the  farm  and  got  the  cart, 
and  Joe  somewhat  sulkily  helped  Tom 
to  put  the  harness  on.  The  horse — there 
was  but  one — and  a  wagon  would  pass 
along  an  eminently  precarious  and  rugged 
track. 

"I  say/'  observed  Joe  Leaman,  "it's 
Chagford  Fair  to-day,  and  there's  a  circus, 
there  is." 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?  "  asked  Tom. 

"Why  don't  y'  go  and  see  the  jumpin' 
tomahawkin'  Injians,  and  the  hostriches  racin', 
and  the  piebald  pony  as  sits  at  a  table  and 
smokes  ?  I  would  if  I  was  you." 

"  I  have  my  work  to  do,  and  I  can't." 

"  I'd  cut  work  if  I  was  you." 

Tom  vouchsafed  no  answer  and  drove  out 
of  the  farmyard  and  along  the  track  into  the 
depths  of  the  moor. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Joe,  "  I  can  cut  along 
over  the  hill  in  no  time,  while  you're  going 
along  the  way." 


GREEN  RUSHES,  O!  229 

"  Well,  cut  along." 

Joe  disappeared.  He  did  not,  however, 
go  over  the  hill,  but  slunk  back  to  the  few 
cottages  near  Vitifer,  and  came  on  Jenny. 

"  I  say,  Jenny,  you're  a  good  'un,  you 
be." 

"  What  do'y  want  now,  Joe  ?  " 

"  Look  y'  here,  Jenny,  I'm  off  to  Chagford 
Fair,  and  there's  hostriches  and  jumpin' 
kangaroos  there,  and  a  piebald  pony  as 
drinks  beer  like  a  fish — and  my  master  hev 
ordered  me  to  load  rushes  out  by  Cranmere." 

"  Then  I  reckon  you  must  go." 

"  No,  I  won't.  But  our  cart  be  started, 
and  I  want  some  one  to  take  my  place. 
Do'y  now,  there's  a  honey,  Jenny.  I  know 
you've  a  holiday,  'cos  of  the  fair ;  so  you 
can,  and  it  ain't  fair  as  I  should  be  made  to 
work,  and  want  to  be  off  to  Chagford,  and 
you  got  nothin'  to  do,  and  don't  kear  about 
fairing." 

"I'll  go,"  said  Jenny,  who  was  very  good- 
natured  ;  but  she  said :  "  Who  is  with  the 
hoss  ?  Who's  going  to  cut  the  rushes  ?  " 

"  One  of  our  chaps,"  said  Joe.  He  had 
that  cunning  in  him  which  prompted  him 
not  to  say  that  Tom  was  with  the  cart.  He 
knew  that,  had  he  told  the  truth,  Jenny 
would  have  been  too  shy  to  go.  "You're 


230  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

thunderin'  good,"  continued  Joe.  "  Now 
look  here ;  you  cut  along  wi'  all  your  legs 
over  that  stretch  o'  moor  yonder,  and  you'll 
come  down  on  the  other  side  upon  the  road 
way  and  see  our  cart  wi'  the  grey  mare,  going 
out  to  the  bogs  about  Cranmere  ;  you  can't 
miss  it.  I'll  give  y'  a  kiss  and  thanks,  Jenny, 
if  you  like." 

"Til  have  the  thanks  wi'out  the  kiss, 
you  monkey ,"  said  the  girl;  and  without 
suspicion  of  deceit,  away  she  went,  singing 
like  a  lark,  across  the  moor  in  the  direction 
indicated.  She  went  as  the  crow  flies, 
whereas  the  cart  had  to  go  on  a  track 
that  followed  a  valley  and  then  turned  round 
a  long  shoulder  of  down,  strewn  with  hut 
circles  belonging  to  an  ancient  settlement  in 
a  prehistoric  age.  She  had  full  three  miles 
to  walk  before  she  could  expect  to  catch  up 
the  cart  and  the  grey  mare. 

As  she  walked,  wading  through  the 
heather,  in  every  flush  from  carmine  to 
palest  lake,  she  sang  for  very  joy  of  heart* 
and  yet  joy  mingled  with  an  indescribable 
yearning — 

"  I  would  I  were  a  sparrow, 
To  light  on  every  tree  ; 
At  eve,  at  night,  and  morning, 
I'd  flutter,  love,  to  thee. 


GREEN   RUSHES,   O!  231 

And  as  the  ship  went  sailing, 

So  lightly  I  would  fly, 
And  perch  me  on  the  topmast, 

My  true  love  thence  to  spy. 

"  I  would  I  were  a  gold-fish, 

And  in  the  sea  did  swim ; 
At  eve,  at  night,  and  morning, 

I'd  follow  after  him. 
Then  o'er  the  bulwark  looking, 

He'd  say,  «  What  see  I  there  ? 
A  fish  all  golden,  shining, 

Like  a  lock  of  my  love's  hair.'  " 

She  stooped — at  her  feet  was  a  clump  of 
white  heath — and  she  picked  some  and  put 
it  in  her  bosom.  To  find  white  heath 
betokens  luck,  it  is  said.  Having  arranged 
her  little  posy,  she  went  on  singing — 

11 1  would  I  were  a  flower, 

And  in  a  garden  grew 
At  eve,  at  night,  and  morning, 

Whene'er  my  love  passed  through. 
And  if  you  plucked  and  wore  me, 

Upon  your  heart  I'd  lie, 
And  breathing  forth  my  fragrance, 

Upon  your  heart  I'd  die." 

She  sang  to  a  plaintive  minor  air — an  air 
that  was  in  itself  full  of  tears;  and  as  she 
sang,  the  sad  words  of  the  sad  melody  took 
the  brightness  from  her  mood  and  left 
an  inarticulate  longing  therein.  She  sur 
mounted  the  hill  and  saw  the  white  mare 
gleam  in  the  sun,  and  the  flash  of  the  scythe 


232  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

of  the  reaper  who  was  to  cut  the  rushes. 
Who  he  was  she  could  not  discern,  as  he 
was  on  the  farther  side  of  the  cart. 

She  hastened  her  steps.  She  ceased  sing 
ing,  as  she  had  not  the  breath  for  it  now. 
Presently  she  came  up  with  the  cart,  and, 
still  not  seeing  who  was  on  the  farther  side, 
said:  "Joe  has  gone  to  the  fair,  and  I've 
told  him — little  monkey — I'd  take  his  place. 
Is  that  you,  Simon  Jeffries  ?  " 

Then  Tom  looked  up  and  across  the  cart, 
and  Jenny  started  back  in  dismay;  but  so 
also  did  Tom. 

Tom  was  angry ;  he  thought  a  trick  had 
been  played  on  him.  Jenny  was  ashamed ; 
she  thought  Tom  would  consider  her  pert, 
forward. 

So  they  walked  along,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  cart,  neither  speaking. 

That  was  a  long,  tedious  journey.  The 
cart  bounced  about  like  a  boat  in  a  chopping 
sea.  Of  road  there  was  absolutely  none. 
The  wheel  on  this  side  bounced  over  a  great 
stone,  then  that  on  the  other  was  heaved  up 
Over  a  hummock  of  turf.  Wretched  as  the 
track  was,  it  was  an  old  one.  As  Tom 
walked  along  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground, 
he  saw  something,  stooped,  and  picked  up  a 
flint  arrow-head — a  thunderbolt,  he  regarded 


GREEN   RUSHES,   O!  233 

it — and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  To  find  a 
thunderbolt  is  as  sure  a  prognostic  of  good 
luck  as  to  discover  white  heath. 

At  length  at  noon  the  great  desolate  dark 
waste  was  reached  where  the  rushes  were  to 
be  cut.  Before  beginning  operations,  Tom 
unharnessed  the  horse,  and  then  returning 
to  a  nodule  of  dry  peat  at  some  little  distance 
to  the  right  of  the  stationary  cart,  pulled  out 
his  lunch,  sat  down,  and  began  to  eat. 

Jenny  had  not  brought  any  food  with  her. 
In  the  hurry  of  starting  she  had  forgotten 
to  provide  herself.  She  withdrew  to  some 
little  distance  to  the  left  of  the  cart,  found  a 
tuft  of  rushes,  and  sat  down  on  that  and 
folded  her  hands. 

Tom  had  eaten  the  greater  part  of  his 
pasty  before  he  looked  in  her  direction. 
The  cart  was  between  them,  but  by  leaning 
backwards  he  could  just  see  her  across  the 
back  of  the  cart-wheels.  Then  he  observed 
that  she  was  fasting.  He  got  up,  went  to 
the  cart,  and  taking  out  a  little  white  bag, 
carried  it  to  her  and  said:  "Here's  Joe 
Leaman's  dinner;  eat  that."  Then  hastily 
he  retired  to  his  former  position,  or  rather 
to  his  former  place,  not  position,  for  he 
altered  the  latter.  Instead  of  sitting  side 
ways,  he  turned  his  back  on  the  cart,  and 


234  DARTMOOR    IDYLLS 

of  course  thereby  turned  his  back  also  on 
Jenny. 

So  he  munched  on.  In  the  great  desolate 
swamp  at  the  spring  head  of  the  river  was 
no  pure,  no  potable  water,  but  Tom  had 
brought  with  him  a  flask  of  cold  tea.  If  he 
had  not  taken  this  with  him,  what  would  he 
have  done  ?  How  could  he  have  gulped 
down  his  dry  pasty  ? 

Now  turning  his  head  over  his  shoulder, 
he  looked  to  see  what  Jenny  was  doing  for 
lack  of  water.  He  couldn't  see,  because  the 
cart  was  in  the  way,  so  he  came  up  to  the 
cart  and  peeped  cautiously  from  behind  it, 
and  saw  that  she  was  quite  unable  to  proceed 
with  a  very  dry  hunch  of  saffron  cake. 
After  some  hesitation,  he  took  up  a  piece 
of  feathery  moss,  wiped  the  mouth  of  his 
bottle,  and  went  over  to  the  girl,  handed  it 
to  her  with  a  "  There  :  pull  away ;  'tis  tea," 
and  then  turned  and  fled.  Ten  minutes 
later  he  stretched  himself,  took  his  scythe, 
and  began  to  reap  down  green  rushes ;  and 
as  he  reaped  he  sang — 


"  Don't  y'  go  a-rushing,  maids,  in  May, 
Don't  y'  go  a-rushing,  maids,  I  say. 

Don't  y'  go  a-rushing, 

Or  you'll  get  a  brushing, 
Gather  up  your  rushes,  and  go  away.' 


GREEN    RUSHES,   O!  235 

He  sang  defiantly,  to  show  that  he  was 
not  thinking  of  Jenny  or  of  any  one  else. 

After  he  had  been  engaged  some  time  in 
cutting,  Jenny  came  and  bound  up  in 
bundles  the  green  rushes  he  had  cut,  but 
always  at  a  considerable  distance  from  him, 
and  ever  as  he  went  ahead  he  sang  out — 

"  Don't  y'  go  a-rushing, 

Or  you'll  get  a  brushing, 
Gather  up  your  rushes,  and  go  away/' 

with  great  emphasis  on  the  go  aivay. 

At  last  sufficient  had  been  cut  and  bound 
to  fill  the  cart,  and  then  Tom  harnessed  the 
grey  mare  and  put  her  in  between  the  shafts, 
and  drove  her  along  to  where  lay  the  little 
bundles. 

Then  with  a  jerk  of  the  chin  and  a  sign 
with  his  thumb,  Tom  indicated  to  Jenny  to 
get  into  the  cart,  which  she  would  not  do 
till  she  had  restored  to  him  his  bottle  of 
cold  tea,  in  which  was  some  still  left ;  and 
of  this  Tom  at  once  took  a  pull  without 
wiping  the  mouth  with  moss,  and  then 
blushed  up  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  fearing 
lest  Jenny  should  have  seen  him  and  read 
the  thoughts  of  his  heart,  that  he  was 
putting  his  lips  where  had  been  hers — and 
was  happy. 

All  went  on  very  silently,  the  loading  with 


236  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

rushes,  and  the  arranging  them  in  the 
cart.  Tom  considered  how  many  "  niches  " 
(bundles)  of  rushes  would  be  required  for 
the  thatch.  He  had  been  told,  and  he  now 
took  more,  lest  the  thatches  should  fall  short 
and  it  would  be  necessary  to  come  out  to 
the  mere  for  more. 

The  cart  was  piled  up  high,  and  on  the 
top  of  the  pile  of  green  rushes  sat  Jenny,  by 
her  weight  to  hold  them  in  place.  It  was 
true  a  rope  was  slung  across,  but  the 
"  niches "  were  so  short  that  it  could  hardly 
nip  them  all.  It  was  necessary  that  some 
one  should  be  in  the  cart  to  keep  them  in 
place.  Then  "Gee  up,  old  grey!"  called 
Tom,  and  they  started  on  the  return  journey. 

All  went  well  for  some  while,  slow  indeed, 
but  without  accident,  so  long  as  the  track 
lay  over  heather  and  moss.  But  when  the 
tracks  became  deeper  and  revealed  gravel 
and  white  lumps  of  granite,  then  the  oscilla 
tion  was  great,  and  the  voyage  attended  with 
danger,  not  only  to  the  cart,  but  also  to  its 
lading.  All  at  once,  down  went  one  wheel 
on  the  side  opposite  to  Tom,  and  he  thought 
the  cart  and  all  its  contents  must  capsize. 

Quick  as  thought,  he  dived  under  the 
cart  and  came  up  on  the  farther  side,  just  as 
the  whole  pile  of  rushes  tilted  over,  and  with 


GREEN   RUSHES,   O!  237 

it  Jenny,  who  was  on  the  top.  Beyond,  at 
his  back,  was  a  bog — profound — treacherous. 
In  the  terror  of  the  moment,  in  his  impossi 
bility  to  escape,  Tom  remained  where  he 
was,  held  out  his  arms,  and  into  them  fell 
Jenny,  and  with  her  and  over  her  and  him 
poured  the  green  rushes,  burying  them  and 
almost  smothering  them. 

But  with  a  struggle,  up  through  the  rush 
"  niches  "  came  the  two  heads  of  Tom  and 
Jenny ;  and  odd  enough  to  relate,  Jenny  in 
her  alarm  had  thrown  her  arms  round 
Tom's  neck,  and  Tom  had  Jenny  fast 
in  his  arms. 

"  Lor'  a-mussy,  Jenny !  "  said  Tom. 

"  Well,  I  never,  Tom  !  "  said  Jenny. 

The  moor  folk  who  had  been  to  Chagford 
Fair,  and  had  seen  the  circus,  the  ostriches, 
the  tomahawking  Indians,  the  piebald  pony 
that  smoked  a  pipe  and  drank  beer,  and  who 
had  paid  sixpence  for  the  privilege,  on  their 
return  in  the  evening  saw  a  still  more  interest 
ing  and  novel  sight,  for  which  they  paid 
nothing.  This  was  none  other  than  Tom 
and  Jenny  coming  off  the  moor  walking 
hand  in  hand,  talking  to  each  other  so  hard 
that  they  heard  not  nor  saw  the  number 
of  people  collected  on  the  road  to  observe 
them  and  comment  on  the  sight. 


238  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

They  had  been  brought  together  at  last, 
and  now  could  not  have  enough  of  each 
other.  The  rushes  did  it. 

I  knew  Tom  and  Jenny  some  years  later, 
when  Tom  and  Jenny  were  no  more  two, 
but  one  flesh ;  and  I  never  knew,  nor  could 
hear  tell,  that  they  had  any  difference  with 
each  other,  except  over  this  one  thing. 

"  You  know,  Jenny,''  said  Tom,  "  'twas 
you  jumped  into  my  arms." 

"  Now,  how  can  you,  Tom  !  "  answered 
Jenny.  "  You  went  under  the  cart,  so  mad 
was  you  to  catch  ho'ud  o'  me." 

"  I — it  was  the  rushes  I  wor  thinking  on." 

"  And  I — I  were  tum'led  down  by  the 
rushes." 

"  Well,"  said  Tom— and  I  was  told  that 
the  little  altercation  always  concluded  in 
this  way — "  well,  Jenny,  there  was  a  power 
o'  folks :  there  was  my  sister  Joanna,  there 
was  that  matron  to  the  barrack,  there  was 
the  cap'n — lor' !  they  was  all  of  'em  on  to 
bring  us  together ;  but  they  couldn't  do  it. 
What  mortal  men  couldn't  do,  the  green 
rushes  did,  and  say  I,  and  always  will  say 
till  I  dies — the  Lord's  blessin'  be  on  the 
green  rushes  as  grows  on  the  moor  for 
bringing  us  together — as  they  did." 


AN  OLD  CROSS 

ON  a  long  ridge  of  moor,  a  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea,  that  forms  a  spur  of  Dartmoor, 
running  out  into  the  rich  umbrageous  land 
below  —  like  certain  characters  that  retain 
their  innate  savagery  though  surrounded  by 
the  sweetest  culture — stands  a  very  ancient 
cross— so  rude,  so  shapeless  that  it  probably 
belongs  to  a  hoar  antiquity,  unless  it  were 
carved  in  the  Middle  Ages  by  a  man  who 
was  an  abject  workman. 

It  is  of  granite.  It  is  covered  with  a  crust 
of  lichen,  yellow,  white,  and  black.  It  is  so 
shapeless  that  some  daring  antiquaries  have 
suggested  that  it  was  a  prehistoric  menhir 
that  was  hacked  into  a  rude  cross  to  give  it 
consecration  from  heathen  rites.  Whatever 
its  origin,  it  is  a  curious  object ;  and  long 
may  it  remain  looking  down  out  of  its  grey 
lichens  on  the  golf-players  who  have  in 
vaded  this  tract  of  down.  But  a  quarry 
239 


240  DARTMOOR  IDYLLS 

has  been  opened  near  it ;  and  year  by  year 
those  engaged  in  supplying  stone  for  the 
roads  approach  nearer  to  the  venerable  cross, 
and  menace  its  stability.  That  its  existence 
has  been  menaced  before,  these  pages  will 
declare.  That  the  menace  came  to  nought 
is  obvious,  because  it  stands  still. 

The  Abbot  of  Tavistock  one  day  passed 
that  way  on  his  mule.  "Upon  my  word, 
that  cross  is  clean  too  ridiculous/'  said  he, 
in  the  vernacular  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
which  I  do  not  attempt  to  reproduce,  as 
vernacular  never  was  written  down  save  in 
farces ;  and  there  are  no  farces  extant  of  that 
early  period  to  tell  us  what  the  popular  slang 
was. 

"  I  think,  Brother  Augustine,"  pursued 
the  Abbot,  "  I'll  have  it  broken  up  and  a 
new  and  respectable  cross  erected  in  its 
stead." 

"  Can't  do  it,"  answered  Brother  Augus 
tine. 

"Why  not?" 

" Because  it  is  a  cross" 

So  it  escaped  on  that  occasion.  Abbot 
Robert  wouldn't  have  it  said  of  him  that  he 
was  like  a  Saracen  or  a  Lollard  who  destroyed 
crosses.  So  he  let  it  remain.  The  cross  ran 
a  more  serious  risk  of  destruction  at  the 


AN   OLD   CROSS  241 

period  of  the  Puritan  domination.  Then  the 
intruded  Presbyterian  minister  at  Tavistock 
was — was — but  there,  I  cannot  tell  you  his 
name,  because  he  did  not  destroy  the  cross. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  Dartmoor  is  the 
village  of  Manaton.  There  also  at  this  time 
a  cross  stood,  in  the  churchyard,  and  when 
corpses  were  carried  to  burial,  they  were 
conveyed  three  times  round  the  cross.  The 
spiritual  shepherd  thought  that  a  bit  of 
arrant  superstition;  he  preached  against  it 
•^all  in  vain.  Then  one  night  he  smashed 
the  cross  to  pieces,  and  threw  the  fragments 
away,  none  knew  where.  The  execration  of 
his  parishioners  preserved  his  name — Car- 
thew.  That  name  is  not  forgotten,  but  the 
name  of  the  Vicar  of  Tavistock  who  tried 
to  destroy  this  cross  and  failed  is  forgotten, 
because  he  failed.  And  it  is  about  that  failure 
I  am  going  to  tell  you. 

Good,  painful  Master — I  can't  tell  you 
his  name  for  reasons  aforesaid — was  a  burning 
and  a  shining  light.  In  Tavistock  Church 
he  had  cut  down  and  destroyed  a  magnificent 
screen  of  carved  oak  richly  painted  and  gilt ; 
he  had  broken  all  the  windows  in  which  were 
figures  of  saints  and  angels,  and  he  had  car 
ried  off  the  Royal  Arms  to  serve  as  a  dresser 
in  his  kitchen. 


242  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

But  if  in  his  Puritanical  zeal  he  had  done 
away  with  certain  things  of  beauty  if  not 
utility  in  church,  he    had   introduced    one 
article    which   was    eminently   useful  —  an 
hour-glass — or   rather   a   rack    of   four,   so 
contrived   that    one   told   the   quarter,   one 
the  half,  the  third  the    three-quarters,   and 
the  fourth  the  whole  hour  that  his  discourse 
was  predestined  to  last.     On   these  glasses 
his  congregation  fixed  their  eyes  on  Sunday, 
and  drew  relieved  breaths  as  each  column  of 
descending   sand    came  to  an   end.      Each 
marked  a  division  in  his  sermon,  which  was 
always  composed  of  four  parts,  the  first  and 
last  parts  being  somewhat  curtailed  to  afford 
an   introduction   or  a   peroration,   and    the 
whole   were  so   timed,  extenuated,  padded, 
and  puffed  out  as  to  fill  the  space  of  one 
hour.    Now  the  painful  Master had  har 
angued  one  Sunday  for  the  space  of  one  hour 
upon  the  topic  of  the  old  cross.     Firstly:  it 
was  a  relic  of  Popish  superstition.     Secondly : 
superstition  was  to  be  avoided  by  godly  men. 
Thirdly:    it  was  the  worship  of  Apollyon. 
Fourthly :  that  cross  was  the  very  seat  and 
throne  of  Apollyon  himself,  who  not  only 
sat  on  it  but  curled  his  tail  about  it. 

On  this  last  point  the  preacher  was  par 
ticularly  strong.     He  thumped    the    pulpit 


AN  OLD   CROSS  243 

cushion,  he  roared,  he  drew  lively  images 
of  rhetoric,  that  would  have  made  his  audi 
ence  jump  like  fleas,  but  that  it  was  a  fourthly, 
and  those  who  were  not  asleep  were  fidgeting 
in  their  pews  to  be  off  to  their  dinners ;  and 
their  minds  were  turning  yearningly  towards 
beef-steak  pudding  or  shoulder  of  mutton 
and  onion  sauce. 

Nevertheless  the  sermon  made  an  impres 
sion.  It  was  talked  about  far  and  wide.  In 
the  peroration  the  preacher  had  exhorted  his 
hearers  to  destroy  utterly,  "  hip-and-thigh  " 
he  had  said,  this  cross ;  but  the  expression 
was  not  quite  suitable,  as  crosses  have  neither 
hips  nor  thighs,  only  arms,  and  this  particu 
lar  one  had  a  trunk  as  well. 

Now  that  portion  of  the  discourse  which 
was  most  commented  on  was  the  daring 

assertion  of  the  godly  Master  that 

the  Prince  of  Darkness  sat  upon  the  cross 
and  curled  his  tail  round  it.  The  curling 
of  the  tail  about  it  must  be  admitted  to  have 
been  a  rhetorical  flourish,  and  was  introduced 
by  the  orator  to  give  a  sort  of  stability  to  his 
figure  of  the  Personage  in  Black  seated  on 
the  cross.  But  that  this  same  personage 
did  make  thereof  his  throne  he  held  most 
assuredly.  As  for  the  curling  of  the  tail 
round  it,  that  was  an  assumption ;  it  might 


244  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

be,  it  very  probably  was  so,  but  it  was  not 
dejide. 

In  those  days  when  very  few  persons  were 
able  to  read,  when  newspapers  did  not  circu 
late,  then  a  minister  was  thought  much  of 
because  he  was  a  scholar,  and  his  assertions 
carried  considerable  weight. 

"  Ded  ye  ever  see  the  old  Scratch  up  a-top 
of  thickey  cross,  now  ?  "  asked  one  old  woman 
of  another. 

"Never  in  all  my  born  days,"  answered  the 
crone  addressed. 

"  But  ye  know  some  one  must  have,  or  the 
pass'n  wouldn't  ha'  zed  what  he  did." 

"No,  I  reckon.  But  I've  never  zeed  nort, 
and  I've  been  by  there  many  times." 

"What,  of  a  night?" 

"  Not  oft  of  a  night  for  sure."  Then,  after 
a  pause,  "  Well,  now  I  come  to  think  on't, 
there  was  one  terrible  moonlight  night  I  did 
pass  that  way,  as  I  were  going  to  Moortown, 
and  I  zeed  something  black  run  along,  and  it 
did  seem  to  be  climbing  up  the  cross.  But 
sit  at  top — no,  I  never.  I  thort  at  the  time 
'twere  my  shadow.  But  ye  know  we're  all 
fallible  creaturs,  as  the  minister  saith,  and  I 
may  ha'  been  mistook  for  sure  sartain." 

"  Very  like.  There  must  be  truth  in  it, 
or  her  (i.  e.  he)  wouldn't  ha*  zed  it." 


AN   OLD   CROSS  245 

Now  at  the  same  time  in  the  "  Wool  Pack  " 
two  men — farmers — were  discussing  the  same 
topic ;  the  name  of  the  one  was  Lillicrap,  and 
the  name  of  the  other  Cudlip. 

Said  Lillicrap  to  Cudlip :  "  Show  it  me 
in  Scriptur',  and  then  I'll  believe  it." 

"  I  don't  reckon  that  Scriptur'  ever  men 
tions  Tavistock :  but  then  there  must  be 
something  there,  or  the  minister  wouldn't 
ha'  zed  it :  I  reckon  he  ain't  set  up  there  in 
thickey  pulpit  to  gammon  us." 

"  If  it  ain't  in  Scriptur'  show  it  me  with  my 
eyes." 

"  You're  an  unbelievin'  Thomas,"  retorted 
the  other.  "  I  reckon  if  you'd  go  there  a 
night  or  two  about  St.  Mark's  Day  or  All 
Saints',  you'd  see  it." 

"  There  be  no  Saints'  days  now." 

"  Not  with  the  new  ministers  under  the 
Commonwealth,  mebbe,  here  on  earth,  but 
the  sperrits  and  powers  o'  darkness  keep  'em 
all  the  same,  I  reckon." 

"  I'll  not  believe,"  roared  Lillicrap.  "  Here, 
fetch  me  another  glass  o'  ale." 

"Then  you  ort,"  roared  Cudlip;  "and 
you — fetch  me  too  another  glass  o'  ale,  and 
us  '11  proceed  wi'  the  argiment." 

On  Monday  the  painful  minister  rubbed 
his  hands  and  said  :  "  We  shall  see !  I'll  give 


246  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

them  this  day,  even  this  Monday — it  will  be 
down  to-morrow ;  so  mighty  is  the  word  in 
my  mouth." 

On  the  Tuesday  he  said,  rubbing  his  chin, 
"  Verily  we  shall  see ;  my  flock  hearkeneth 
to  the  voice  of  their  pastor — whether  with 
alacrity  or  sluggishly,  we  shall  see." 

Then  he  took  his  hat  and  stick,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  the  down  and  trudged  through 
the  heather,  and  occasionally  stooped  to 
pluck  whortle-berries  and  put  them  into 
his  very  large  mouth — so  large  that  in  it 
one  tiny  whortle- berry  was  like  a  mere  swab 
in  the  maelstrom — and  at  last  he  surmounted 
a  rise,  just  as  he  had  put  another  whortle 
berry  on  his  tongue,  and  lo !  there  stood  the 
old  cross  as  it  had  stood  for  many  hundred 
years. 

The  minister  had  an  exercise  that  evening 
in  the  church,  and  the  elect  who  attended 
were  rated  soundly  for  not  carrying  out  the 
injunctions  given  on  the  previous  Sabbath. 
But  on  account  of  the  whortle-berries  he 
had  eaten,  what  principally  engaged  the  at 
tention  of  his  auditory  was  the  blackness  of 
his  mouth  and  tongue ;  indeed,  so  taken  up 
were  they  with  this,  and  speculating  on  its 
origin,  that  the  subject  of  his  exercise  passed 
almost  unnoticed. 


AN   OLD   CROSS  247 

Next  day  the  pastor  did  not  go  up  to  the 
down — he  would  give  his  flock  time  to 
execute  what  he  had  ordered.  But  the 
second  day  he  rubbed  his  chin,  wiped  his 
eyes,  and  said,  "  We  shall  see  !  we  shall  see  ! 
Verily  and  indeed,  we  shall  see ! "  and 
ascended  the  down,  trotted  at  a  quick  pace 
through  the  heather,  too  quickly  to  notice  the 
wbortle-bushes,  and  too  impatient  to  stop 
and  pluck  and  consume  the  berries. 

But  no  sooner  had  he  surmounted  the 
rise  that  commanded  the  spot  where  the  old 
cross  had  been  planted,  than  he  saw  it, 
gleaming  golden  in  the  evening  sun  against 
a  background  of  purple  moor.  This  was  too 
much.  In  the  worst  possible  temper  con- 
sistent  with  the  sacredness  of  his  character, 
he  hasted  home. 

"We  shall  see,"  said  he,  grimly.  "Aye 
and  verily,  we  shall  see.  I  will  even  now  go 
and  do  it  myself." 

So  saying,  the  reverend  pastor  looked 
out  a  pick  and  bar,  put  them  over  his 
shoulder,  and  started  again  for  the  down. 
The  hill  he  had  to  mount  was  steep,  and 
his  shoulders  were  unaccustomed  to  bear 
greater  burden  than  the  charge  of  his  parish. 
Consequently  he  found  the  weight  of  the 
pick  and  bar  onerous.  First  he  carried  them 


248  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

both  over  his  right  shoulder,  then  both  over 
the  left,  then  divided  them,  and  laid  the  pick 
on  the  right  and  the  bar  on  the  left,  then 
again  made  a  shift  and  reversed  the  positions. 
None  were  quite  desirable,  and  his  large 
mouth  went  down  at  each  end,  with  an  ex 
pression  not  altogether  angelic.  The  hill 
was  steep,  he  panted,  the  sweat  ran  off  his 
brow,  his  great  mouth  gaped  like  a  poacher's 
pocket  when  empty.  He  had  to  rest,  lay 
the  tools  in  the  hedge,  and  lean  back  among 
the  fern  and  fox-gloves,  wipe  his  bedewed 
face,  and  growl  out  some  words  that  were 
not  benedictions.  He  was  angry  with  his 
sheep,  that  they  were  so  inattentive  to  his 
exhortations,  but  he  was  most  angry  with 
the  old  mottled  cross  that  had  occasioned 
this  discomfort  and  humiliation. 

"We  shall  see,"  said  he,  and  his  lip 
quivered  with  fatigue,  anger,  and  resentment. 
"  We  shall  see.  O  thou  dissolute  "  (he  meant 
desolate,  but  was  so  excited  that  he  did  not 
hit  on  the  right  word) — "  thou  dissolute  old 
cross,  I'll  grub  thee  up  !  I'll  topple  thee 
over  !  I'll  bang  thee  about  and  break  thee 
in  sunder ! " 

Then  he  went  on  his  way. 

He  waded  through  heather,  trampled  on 
the  purple  berries  of  the  whortle  till  his  boots 


AN   OLD    CROSS  249 

were  dyed  as  though  he  had  waded  in  gore. 
And  so — at  last  came  within  sight  of  the 
cross. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  he,  "  there  thou  art ;  look 
ing  as  audacious  as  ever.  I'll  speedily 
humble  thy  pride.  I'll  lay  thee  even  with 
the  dust." 

So  he  stumbled  on,  occasionally  tripping 
among  the  harsh  branches  of  the  heath,  and 
coming  down  on  his  knees,  once  even  on  all 
fours. 

At  length  he  reached  the  cross. 

Then  he  looked  about  him.  The  day 
was  closing  in.  Far  away  on  the  horizon 
the  golden  halo  of  declining  day  hung 
behind  the  range  of  the  Cornish  moors. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  he.  "  I  can  do  it  in 
half-an-hour,  and  be  back  before  nightfall. 
What  is  that  black  spot  there  on  the  hill  ? 
If  it  be  a  countryman,  then  verily  I  will 
obtain  his  aid,  and  pay  him  with  a  piece 
of  moral  exhortation.  However,  I  cannot 
await  his  arrival.  I  can  but  begin." 

Thereupon  the  discreet  and  sober  minister 
began  work  with  the  pick.  He  did  not 
remove  his  coat,  for  he  trusted  that  a  labour 
ing  man  was  on  his  way  to  this  point  and 
would  speedily  relieve  him  of  his  labour. 

He  struck  into   the  soil,  and  the  pick 


250  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

encountered  stones.  "Triggers,"  said  the 
pastor,  "set  even  to  hold  this  same  in 
position  and  firmly.  I'll  have  them  out, 
yea  verily, "  and  he  renewed  his  efforts. 

The  stones  wedged  in  round  the  base 
were  firmly  set,  and  he  could  not  easily  dis 
place  them.  He  went  down  on  his  knees 
and  worked  with  his  fingers,  and  scratched 
them. 

"I  will  try  the  bar,"  said  he.  And  he 
endeavoured  to  lever  the  stones  out.  One 
he  did  succeed  in  heaving  forth.  "  Aye,  in 
verity,  this  is  hard  labour  to  the  flesh." 
Then  he  rose.  "  I  will  even  see  whether 
that  man  be  coming,  to  assist  my  infirmity." 

He  turned,  and  what  he  saw  made  him 
drop  the  crowbar.  A  bull  was  coming  at 
full  gallop,  plunging  over  the  masses  of 
furze,  snorting,  tossing  his  horns,  and  when 
he  saw  the  pastor  face  round  he  uttered  a 
bellow. 

In  an  instant,  in  his  terror,  seeing  there 
was  not  a  moment  to  be  lost,  up  the  cross 
scrambled  the  minister,  with  an  alacrity  he 
had  not  shown  since  boyhood,  and  having 
reached  the  summit  he  seated  himself  with 
legs  depending  one  over  each  arm  of  the 
cross,  himself  holding  firmly  to  the  head. 

The   bull   careered    round    the   cross,   it 


AN   OLD   CROSS  251 

rubbed  its  horns  against  the  stone,  it  looked 
up,  it  sought  to  reach  the  frightened  man, 
and  the  pastor  was  fain  to  raise  one  foot, 
then  the  other,  beyond  reach  of  the  brute, 
for  the  cross  was  but  just  sufficiently  lofty  to 
maintain  him  out  of  danger. 

"Hush!  hush!"  said  the  minister. 
"  Hush !  away !  avaunt !  hush !  Hush  ! 
Begone ! " 

But  the  savage  brute  was  deaf  to  such 
exclamations,  as  indifferent  as  had  been  the 
congregation  in  the  parish  church. 

"Depart,  son  of  iniquity!  Beast  of 
Abaddon.  I  anathematize  thee ;  go  far  from 
me ! "  shouted  the  man,  curling  his  long 
legs  round  the  cross.  "  Oh,  my  gracious !  he 
has  twisted  his  horns  in  my  tail !  "  He  meant 
the  tails  of  his  long  black  coat.  With  both 
hands  he  plucked  at  the  flaps  of  his  coat  and 
drew  them  away,  but  in  so  doing  almost 
overbalanced  himself. 

"You  foul  spirit!  "  shouted  he,  "I'll  tell 
Butcher  Edgcombe  of  you  !  I'll  ask  him  to 
strike  you  between  the  horns  with  his  axe. 
I'll  order  a  round  out  of  you,  I'll  have  it 
salted,  I'll  eat  it — I  will,  and  enjoy  it  too !  " 
He  ground  his  teeth  at  the  bull,  leaning  his 
chin  on  the  top  member  of  the  cross.  The 
bull  galloped  round  the  post,,  blowing  blasts 


252  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

from  his  nostrils,  and  his  breath  reached  the 
threatened  man. 

"See  now/'  cried  the  pastor,  altering  his 
tone,  "  why  should'st  thou  assail  me  ?  I  am 
not  edible.  I  am  old,  leathery,  and  without 
any  succulence  to  speak  of.  Over  the  hedge 
yonder  is  Farmer  Turpin's  corn.  There  is 
a  gap  you  can  get  through.  That  corn  is 
most  delicious  food.  No — no — my  boots 
are  tasteless,  do  not  seek  to  devour  them." 

How  long  was  this  likely  to  last  ?  The 
evening  was  coming  on  rapidly,  indeed  dusk 
was  already  setting  in ;  below,  in  the  valley, 
lay  a  haze  over  the  river  Tavy.  Would  he 
have  to  spend  the  night  perched  on  this 
uncomfortable  stone,  unable  to  sleep,  ever 
on  the  watch  against  the  terrible  animal  that 
seemed  possessed  with  intense  animosity 
against  him. 

"  See !  see !  "  exclaimed  the  minister, 
"here  is  my  kerchief.  It  is  even  red.  Do 
thou  disport  thyself  therewith  and  let  me 
alone." 

He  let  drop  the  piece  of  red  material 
wherewith  he  had  previously  wiped  his  brow, 
and  the  bull  caught  it,  tossed  it  on  his  horns, 
tossed  it  again  as  it  fluttered  down,  got  it 
entangled  about  them,  ploughed  up  the 
earth  with  his  horns  to  disengage  them  ; 


AN   OLD   CROSS  253 

then,  no  sooner  was  he  free  again,  than — 
just  as  the  pastor  was  attempting  cautiously 
to  descend  so  as  to  make  a  rush  and  escape — 
he  returned  to  him  again,  and  up  the  cross 
swarmed  the  unhappy  man  in  breathless 
terror,  rejoiced,  when  he  reached  the  top, 
to  be  again  in  security. 

Then  the  bull  threw  himself  down  below 
the  stone  post. 

"  Merciful  powers !  "  exclaimed  the  pastor, 
"he  is  going  to  spend  the  night  here. 
Whatever  shall  I  do  ?  " 

Then,  to  his  inexpressible  relief,  he  saw 
two  human  forms  advancing  along  the  turf 
road  that  traversed  the  moor.  These  two 
were  Goody  Blake  and  Margery  Gloyne, 
even  the  same  who  had  held  the  conversa 
tion  already  recorded  relative  to  his  sermon 
on  the  preceding  Sabbath. 

To  them  now  the  man  shouted  for  assist 
ance  in  his  difficulty. 

Now  Goody  Blake  was  carrying  a  basket 
of  eggs,  and  Margery  Gloyne  had  in  her 
hand  a  bottle  of  cordial,  elixir  vitae. 
Hearing  the  cry,  they  looked  in  the  direction 
whence  the  sound  proceeded,  and  saw  perched 
on  the  cross  a  black,  lean  figure  waving  its 
arms.  Instantly  the  words  of  the  preacher 
recurred  to  them*  Down  went  eggs  and 


254  DARTMOOR   IDYLLS 

cordial,  and  the  two  old  women  ran  as  hard 
as  they  could  run  in  the  direction  of  Tavi- 
stock,  screaming  when  they  could  scream — 

"The  live  Apollyon,  us  ha'  zeen  him,  wi' 
his  curly  tail  crooked  round  the  ou'd  cross, 
and  horns  on  his  head,  and  breathin'  brim 
stone.'' 

The  report  spread.  From  out  the  public- 
houses  came  running  those  who  had  been 
drinking,  with  them  Farmers  Cudlip  and 
Lillicrap. 

"  There  now ! "  exclaimed  the  farmer. 
"You  unbelieving  heathen — come  and  see 
with  your  eyes." 

"  We'll  all  go,"  said  the  topers.  "  We'll 
all  go,"  said  the  godly.  "  What  our  minister 
saith  be  very  gospel." 

In  less  than  an  hour  full  half  the  popula 
tion  of  the  little  town  was  poured  forth  over 
the  down  to  see  the  very  live  Apollyon 
seated  on  the  top  of  the  cross.  Men, 
women,  old,  young,  godly  and  profane.  When 
the  mob  came  in  sight  of  the  weird  old 
cross  of  granite,  it  was  nearly  dark,  but  they 
could  see  some  black  object  like  an  immense 
spider  or  raven,  gesticulating,  and  they 
could  hear  it  vociferating.  They  all  held 
back  in  doubt. 

Then  the  bull,  alarmed  at  the  approaching 


AN   OLD   CROSS  255 

crowd,  plunged  through  them,  scattering 
them  like  chaff,  shrieking,  in  all  directions. 

When  the  first  panic  was  over,  the  bolder 
recovered  courage  and  drew  nigher. 

"Drat  it,"  said  Lillicrap,  "that's  nought 
but  my  old  bull  got  loose,  and — blazes ! — 
that  up  yonder  is  surely — our  passon." 

And  so  it  came  about  that  the  cross  on 
Whitchurch  Down  was  not  destroyed. 

So  also  it  came  to  pass  that,  whereas  the 
name  of  the  man  who  destroyed  the  Manaton 
Cross  has  been  handed  down  and  will  never 
be  forgotten,  that  of  the  man  who  tried  to 
destroy  the  other  cross  has  been  forgotten, 
because  forsooth  he  tried  to  do  it,  and  didn't 
accomplish  it. 


THE    END 


RICHARD  CLAY  &  Sows,  LIMITEB, 
LONDON  &  BUNGAY. 


A  CATALOGUE  OF  BOOKS 

AND    ANNOUNCEMENTS    OF 

METHUEN    AND    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  :  LONDON 

36  ESSEX  STREET 

W.C. 

CONTENTS 

PAGE 
FORTHCOMING  BOOKS,   .  ...  2 

POETRY,  ......  9 

ENGLISH  CLASSICS,          .  .  .  .  .11 

ILLUSTRATED  BOOKS,  .....  12 

HISTORY,    .  .  .  .  .  13 

BIOGRAPHY,         .  .  .  .  .  .15 

GENERAL  LITERATURE,  .  .  .  .17 

SCIENCE,  .  .  .  .  .          -     .  20 

THEOLOGY  AND  PHILOSOPHY,  2O 

LEADERS  OF  RELIGION,  .  .  .  .  22 

FICTION,  ......  22 

BOOKS  FOR  BOYS  AND  GIRLS,     ....  32 

UNIVERSITY  EXTENSION  SERIES,          •  •  •  33 

SOCIAL  QUESTIONS  OF  TO-DAY,  .  .  .  35 

CLASSICAL  TRANSLATIONS;       ....  36 

EDUCATIONAL  BOOKS,  ....  37 


MARCH     1896 


MARCH  1896. 


MESSRS.      METHUEN'S 

ANNOUNCEMENTS 


Poetry  and  Belles  Lettres 

LANG  AND  CRAIGIE 

THE  POEMS  OF  ROBERT  BURNS.     Edited  by  ANDREW 
LANG  and  W.  A.  CRAIGIE.     With  Portrait.    Demy  Svo.    6s. 
Also  50  copies  on  hand -made  paper.     Demy  Svo.     21  s.  net. 
This  edition  will  contain  a  carefully  collated  Text,  numerous  Notes,  critical  and 

textual,  a  critical  and  biographical  Introduction,  and  a  Glossary. 
The  publishers  hope  that  it  will  be  the  most  complete  and  handsome  edition  ever 
issued  at  the  price. 

W.  M.  DIXON 

A  PRIMER  OF  TENNYSON.  By  W.  M.  DIXON,  M.A., 
Professor  of  English  Literature  at  Mason  College.  Cr.  Svo.  2s.  6d. 
This  book  consists  of  (i)  a  succinct  but  complete  biography  of  Lord  Tennyson; 
(2)  an  account  of  the  volumes  published  by  him  in  chronological  order,  dealing  with 
the  more  important  poems  separately  ;  (3)  a  concise  criticism  of  Tennyson  in  his 
various  aspects  as  lyrist,  dramatist,  and  representative  poet  of  his  day;  (4)  a 
bibliography.  Such  a  complete  book  on  such  a  subject,  and  at  such  a  moderate 
price,  should  find  a  host  of  readers. 

W.  A.  CRAIGIE 

A  PRIMER  OF  BURNS.    By  W.  A.  CRAIGIE.    Cr.  Svo.    2s.6d. 

This  book  is  planned  on  a  method  similar  to  the  '  Primer  of  Tennyson.'    It  has  also  a 
glossary.    It  will  be  issued  in  time  for  the  Burns  Centenary. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  ANNOUNCEMENTS 


English  Classics 

THE  LIVES  OF  THE  ENGLISH  POETS.  By  SAMUEL 
JOHNSON,  LL.D.  With  an  Introduction  by  JOHN  HEPBURN 
MILLAR,  and  a  Portrait.  3  vols.  Crown  8vo,  buckram,  los.  6d. 

SHAKESPEARE'S  POEMS.  Edited  by  GEORGE  WYNDHAM, 
M.P.  Crown  Svo.  $s.  6d. 


Theology  and  Philosophy 

E.  C.  S.  GIBSON 

THE  XXXIX.  ARTICLES  OF  THE  CHURCH  OF  ENG 
LAND.  Edited  with  an  Introduction  by  E.  C.  S.  GIBSON,  M.A., 
Vicar  of  Leeds,  late  Principal  of  Wells  Theological  College.  In 
two  volumes.  Demy  8v0.  Js.  6d.  each.  Vol.  I. 

This  is  the  first  volume  of  a  treatise  on  the  xxxix.  Articles,  and  contains  the  Intro 
duction  and  Articles  i.-viii. 

E.  L.  OTTLEY 
THE  DOCTRINE  OF  THE   INCARNATION.      By  R.   L. 

OTTLEY,  M.A.,  late  fellow  of  Magdalen  College,  Oxon.,  Principal 
of  Pusey  House.    In  two  volumes.   DemyZvo.    15*. 

This  is  the  first  volume  of  a  book  intended  to  be  an  aid  in  the  study  of  the  doctrine 
of  the  Incarnation.  It  deals  with  the  leading  points  in  the  history  of  the  doctrine, 
its  content,  and  its  relation  to  other  truths  of  Christian  faith. 

L.  T.  HOBHOUSE 

THE  THEORY  OF  KNOWLEDGE.  By  L.  T.  HOBHOUSE, 
Fellow  and  Tutor  of  Corpus  College,  Oxford.  Demy  Svo.  2is. 

'  The  Theory  of  Knowledge '  deals  with  some  of  the  fundamental  problems  of 
Metaphysics  and  Logic,  by  treating  them  in  connection  with  one  another. 
PART  I.  begins  with  the  elementary  conditions  of  knowledge  such  as  Sensation 
and  Memory,  and  passes  on  to  Judgment.  PART  ir.  deals  with  Inference  in 
general,  and  Induction  in  particular.  PART  HI.  deals  with  the  structural  concep 
tions  of  Knowledge,  such  as  Matter,  Substance,  and  Personality.  The  main 
purpose  of  the  book  is  constructive,  but  it  is  also  critical,  and  various  objections 
are  considered  and  met. 


4         MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  ANNOUNCEMENTS 

W.  H.  FAIRBROTHER 

THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  T.  H.  GREEN.  By  W.  H.  FAIR- 
BROTHER,  M.A.,  Lecturer  at  Lincoln  College,  Oxford.  Crown  8vo. 
3J.  6d. 

This  volume  is  expository,  not  critical,  and  is  intended  for  senior  students  at  the 
Universities,  and  others,  as  a  statement  of  Green's  teaching  and  an  introduction 
to  the  study  of  Idealist  Philosophy. 

F.  W.  BUSSELL 

THE  SCHOOL  OF  PLATO  :  its  Origin  and  Revival  under 
the  Roman  Empire.  By  F.  W.  BUSSELL,  M.  A.,  Fellow  and  Tutor 
of  Brasenose  College,  Oxford.  Demy  8v0.  Two  volumes,  'js.  6d. 
each.  Vol.  /. 

In  these  volumes  the  author  has  attempted  to  reach  the  central  doctrines  of  Ancient 
Philosophy,  or  the  place  of  man  in  created  things,  and  his  relation  to  the  outer 
world  of  Nature  or  Society,  and  to  the  Divine  Being.  The  first  volume  com 
prises  a  survey  of  the  entire  period  of  a  thousand  years,  and  examines  the 
cardinal  notions  of  the  Hellenic,  Hellenistic,  and  Roman  ages  from  this  particular 
point  of  view. 

In  succeeding  divisions  the  works  of  Latin  and  Greek  writers  under  the  Empire 
will  be  more  closely  studied,  and  detailed  essays  will  discuss  their  various  systems, 
e.g.  Cicero,  Manilius,  Lucretius,  Seneca,  Aristides,  Appuleius,  and  the  Neo- 
Platonists  of  Alexandria  and  Athens. 


History  and  Biography 

EDWARD  GIBBON 

THE  DECLINE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  ROMAN  EMPIRE. 
By  EDWARD  GIBBON.  A  New  Edition,  edited  with  Notes, 
Appendices,  and  Maps  by  J.  B.  BURY,  M.A.,  Fellow  of  Trinity 
College,  Dublin.  In  Seven  Volumes.  Crown  %vo.  6s.  each.  Vol.  I. 

The  time  seems  to  have  arrived  for  a  new  edition  of  Gibbon's  great  work— furnished 
with  such  notes  and  appendices  as  may  bring  it  up  to  the  standard  of  recent  his 
torical  research.  Edited  by  a  scholar  who  has  made  this  period  his  special  study, 
and  issued  in  a  convenient  form  and  at  a  moderate  price,  this  edition  should  fill 
an  obvious  void.  The  volumes  will  be  issued  at  intervals  of  a  few  months. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  ANNOUCEMENTS         5 
F.  w.  JOYCE 

THE  LIFE  OF  SIR  FREDERICK  GORE  OUSELEY.    By 
F.  W.  JOYCE,  M.A.     With  Portraits  and  Illustrations.     Crown  8vo. 


This  book  will  be  interesting  to  a  large  number  of  readers  who  care  to  read  the  Life 
of  a  man  who  laboured  much  for  the  Church,  and  especially  for  the  improvement 
of  ecclesiastical  music. 


CAPTAIN  HINDE 

THE  FALL  OF  THE  CONGO  ARABS.  By  SIDNEY  L. 
HINDE.  With  Portraits,  Illustrations,  and  Plans.  Demy  8vo. 
I2s.  6d. 

This  volume  deals  with  the  recent  Belgian  Expedition  to  the  Upper  Congo,  which 
developed  into  a  war  between  the  State  forces  and  the  Arab  slave-raiders  in 
Central  Africa.  Two  white  men  only  returned  alive  from  the  three  years'  war — 
Commandant  Dhanis  and  the  writer  of  this  book,  Captain  Hinde.  During  the 
greater  part  of  the  time  spent  by  Captain  Hinde  in  the  Congo  he  was  amongst 
cannibal  races  in  little-known  regions,  and,  owing  to  the  peculiar  circumstances 
of  his  position,  was  enabled  to  see  a  side  of  native  history  shown  to  few  Europeans. 
The  war  terminated  in  the  complete  defeat  of  the  Arabs,  seventy  thousand  of 
whom  perished  during  the  struggle. 


General  Literature 

L.  WHIBLEY 

GREEK  OLIGARCHIES:  THEIR  ORGANISATION  AND 
CHARACTER.  By  L.  WHIBLEY,  M.A.,  Fellow  of  Pembroke 
College,  Cambridge.  Crown  %vo.  6s. 

This  book  is  a  study  of  the  Oligarchic   Constitutions  of  Greece,   treated    histori 
cally  and  from  the  point  of  view  of  political  philosophy. 

C.  H.  PEARSON 

ESSAYS  AND  CRITICAL  REVIEWS.  By  C.  H.  PEARSON, 
M.A.,  Author  of  '  National  Life  and  Character.'  Edited,  with  a 
Biographical  Sketch,  by  H.  A.  STRONG,  M.A.,  LL.D.  With  a 
Portrait.  Demy  Svo.  Js.  6d. 

This  volume  contains  the  best  critical  work  of  Professor  Pearson,  whose  remarkable 
book  on  '  National  Life  and  Character'  created  intense  interest. 


6         MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  ANNOUNCEMENTS 

W.  CUNNINGHAM 

MODERN  CIVILISATION  IN  SOME  OF  ITS  ECONOMIC 
ASPECTS.  By  W.  CUNNINGHAM,  D.D.,  Fellow  of  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge.  Crown  Svo.  2s.  6d.  [Social  Questions  Series. 

A  book  on  economics  treated  from  the  standpoint  of  morality. 

F.  W.  THEOBALD 

INSECT  LIFE.  By  F.  W.  THEOBALD,  M.A.  Illustrated. 
Crown  8v0.  2s.  6d.  [  Univ.  Extension  Series. 

Classical  Translations 

CICERO— De  Natura  Deorum.  Translated  by  F.  BROOKS, 
M.A.  Crown  Sve,  buckram,  3^.  6d. 

Fiction 

THE  NOVELS  OF  MARIE  CORELLI 

FIRST  COMPLETE  AND  UNIFORM  EDITION 
Large  crown  8-2/0.     6s. 

MESSRS.  METHUEN  beg  to  announce  that  they  will  in  May  commence  the 
publication  of  a  New  and  Uniform  Edition  of  MARIE  CORELLI'S  Romances. 
This  Edition  will  be  revised  by  the  Author,  and  will  contain  new  Prefaces. 
The  volumes  will  be  issued  at  short  intervals  in  the  following  order  :-— 

i.  A  ROMANCE  OF  TWO  WORLDS.      2.  VENDETTA 
3.  THELMA.  4-  ARDATH. 

5.  THE  SOUL  OF  LILITH.  6.  WORMWOOD. 

7.  BARABBAS.  8.  THE  SORROWS  OF  SATAN. 

BARING  GOULD 

THE  BROOM-SQUIRE.  By  S.  BARING  GOULD,  Author  of 
'Mehalah,'  'Noemi,'  etc.  Illustrated  by  FRANK  DADD.  Crown 
8v0.  6s. 

The  scene  of  this  romance  is  laid  on  the  Surrey  hills,  and  the  date  is  that  of  the  famous 
Hindhead  murder  in  1786. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  ANNOUNCEMENTS         7 

GILBERT  PARKER 

THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY.     By  GILBERT  PARKER, 
Author   of    'When  Valmond  came  to   Pontiac,'    'Pierre  and  his 
People,'  etc.      Crown  8v0.     6s. 
A  Romance  of  the  Anglo-French  War  of  1759. 

EMILY  LAWLESS 

HURRISH.      By  the    Honble.    EMILY    LAWLESS,  Author   of 

'  Maelcho,'  'Crania,'  etc.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 
A  reissue  of  Miss  Lawless'  most  popular  novel,  uniform  with  '  Maelcho.' 

MRS.  OLIPHANT 

THE  TWO  MARYS.    By  MRS.  OLIPHANT.     Crown  8vo.    6s. 

MRS.  WALFORD 

SUCCESSORS    TO    THE   TITLE.       By    MRS.   WALFORD, 
Author  of  '  Mr.  Smith,'  etc.     Crown  Svo.     6s. 

JOHN  DAVIDSON 

MRS.  ARMSTRONG'S  AND  OTHER  CIRCUMSTANCES. 
By  JOHN  DAVIDSON,  Author   of  '  The    Ballad  of  a  Nun,'  etc. 
Crown  8vo.     6s. 
A  collection  of  stories  by  Mr.  John  Davidson,  whose  fine  verses  aie  well  known. 

J.  BLOUNDELLE  BURTON 

IN    THE    DAY    OF   ADVERSITY.      By   J.    BLOUNDELLE 

BURTON,  Author  of  «  The  Desert  Ship,'  etc.     Crown  8vo.    6s. 

A  historical  romance. 

HENR7  JOHNSTON 

DR.    CONGALTON'S    LEGACY.      By   HENRY   JOHNSTON, 

Author  of  *  Kilmallie,'  etc.     Crown  8vo.    6s. 
A  story  of  Scottish  life. 

J.  H.  FINDLATER 

THE  GREEN  GRAVES   OF  BALGOWRIE.     By  JANE  H. 

FINDLATER.     Crown  8vo.    6s. 

A  story  of  Scotland. 


8         MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  ANNOUNCEMENTS 

J.  L.  PATON 
A  HOME  IN  INVERESK.    By  J.  L.  PATON.    Crown  Zvo.    6s. 

A  story  of  Scotland  and  British  Columbia. 

M.  A.  OWEN 

THE  DAUGHTER  OF  ALOUETTE.    By  MARY  A.  OWEN. 

Crown  8v0.     6s. 
A  story  of  life  among  the  American  Indians. 

RONALD  ROSS 

THE   SPIRIT  OF   STORM.      By  RONALD  Ross,  Author  of 

'  The  Child  of  Ocean. '     Crown  Svo.     6s. 
A  romance  of  the  Sea. 

J.  A.  BARRY 

TALES  OF  THE  SEA.     By  J.  A.  BARRY.    Author  of  'Steve 
Brown's  Bunyip.'     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

H.  A.  MORRAH 
A  SERIOUS  COMEDY.    By  H.  A.  MORRAH.    Crown  Svo.    6s. 


A  LIST  OF 

MESSRS.      METHUEN'S 

PUBLICATIONS 


Poetry 


Rudyard  Kipling.  BARRACK-ROOM  BALLADS;  And 
Other  Verses.  By  RUDYARD  KIPLING.  Ninth  Edition.  Crown 
Svo.  6s. 

Mr.  Kipling's  verse  is  strong,  vivid,  full  of  character.  .  .  .  Unmistakable  genius 
rings  in  every  line. ' —  Times. 

'The  disreputable  lingo  of  Cockayne  is  henceforth  justified  before  the  world  ;  for  a 
man  of  genius  has  taken  it  in  hand,  and  has  shown,  beyond  all  cavilling,  that  in 
its  way  it  also  is  a  medium  for  literature.  You  are  grateful,  and  you  say  to 
yourself,  half  in  envy  and  half  in  admiration  :  "  Here  is  a  book  ;  here,  or  one  is  a 
Dutchman,  is  one  of  the  books  of  the  year."  ' — National  Observer. 

1  "  Barrack  -Room  Ballads"  contains  some  of  the  best  work  that  Mr.  Kipling  has 
ever  done,  which  is  saying  a  good  deal.  "  Fuzzy- Wuzzy,"  "  Gunga  Din,"  and 
"  Tommy,"  are,  in  our  opinion,  altogether  superior  to  anything  of  the  kind  that 
English  literature  has  hitherto  produced.' — Athettaum. 

'  The  ballads  teem  with  imagination,  they  palpitate  with  emotion.  We  read  them 
with  laughter  and  tears;  the  metres  throb  in  our  pulses,  the  cunningly  ordered 
words  tingle  with  life  ;  and  if  this  be  not  poetry,  what  is?' — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

Henley.  LYRA  HEROICA :  An  Anthology  selected  from  the 
best  English  Verse  of  the  i6th,  I7th,  i8th,  and  igth  Centuries.  By 
WILLIAM  ERNEST  HENLEY.  Crown  8vo.  Buckram,  gilt  top.  6s. 

Mr.  Henley  has  brought  to  the  task  of  selection  an  instinct  alike  for  poetry  and  for 
chivalry  which  seems  to  us  quite  wonderfully,  and  even  unerringly,  right.' — 
Guardian. 

A  2 


io  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

"Q."  THE  GOLDEN  POMP  :  A  Procession  of  English  Lyrics 
from  Surrey  to  Shirley,  arranged  by  A.  T.  QUILLER  COUCH.  Crown 
2>vo.  Buckram.  6s, 

'A  delightful  volume  :  a  really  golden  "Pomp."' — Spectator. 

'Of  the  many  anthologies  of  "old  rhyme"  recently  made,  Mr.  Couch's  seems  the 
richest  in  its  materials,  and  the  most  artistic  in  its  arrangement.  Mr.  Couch's 
notes  are  admirable;  and  Messrs.  Methuen  are  to  be  congratulated  on  the  format 
of  the  sumptuous  volume.' — Realm. 

"  Q."    GREEN  BAYS  :  Verses  and  Parodies.     By  "  Q.,"  Author 

of  '  Dead  Man's  Rock,' etc.     Second  Edition.     Crown  8vo.     -$s.6d. 
1  The  verses  display  a  rare  and  versatile  gift  of  parody,  great  command  of  metre,  and 
a  very  pretty  turn  of  humour.' — Times. 

H.  0.  Beeching.  LYRA  SACRA  :  An  Anthology  of  Sacred  Verse. 
Edited  by  H.  C.  BEECHING,  M.A.  Crown  8vo.  Buckram,  gilt 
top.  6s. 

'An  anthology  of  high  excellence.' — Atheneeum. 
'  A  charming  selection,  which  maintains  a  lofty  standard  of  excellence.' — Times. 

Yeats.  AN  ANTHOLOGY  OF  IRISH  VERSE.  Edited  by 
W.  B.  YEATS.  Crown  8vo.  $s.  6d. 

1  An  attractive  and  catholic  selection.' — Times. 

'  It  is  edited  by  the  most  original  and  most  accomplished  of  modern  Irish  poets,  and 
against  his  editing  but  a  single  objection  can  be  brought,  namely,  that  it  excludes 
from  the  collection  his  own  delicate  lyrics.' — Saturday  Review. 

Mackay.  A  SONG  OF  THE  SEA  :  MY  LADY  OF  DREAMS, 
AND  OTHER  POEMS.  By  ERIC  MACKAY,  Author  of  '  The  Love 
Letters  of  a  Violinist. '  Second  Edition.  Fcap.  8vo,  gilt  top.  $s. 

'  Everywhere  Mr.  Mackay  displays  himself  the  master  of  a  style  marked  by  all  the 
characteristics  of  the  best  rhetoric.  He  has  a  keen  sense  of  rhythm  and  of  general 
balance;  his  verse  is  excellently  sonorous.' — Globe. 

'  Throughout  the  book  the  poetic  workmanship  is  fine.' — Scotsman. 

Ibsen.    BRAND.    A  Drama  by  HENRIK  IBSEN.    Translated  by 

WILLIAM  WILSON.     Second  Edition.     Crown  8vo.     3.5-.  6d. 
'The  greatest  world-poem   of   the   nineteenth  century  next  to  "Faust."     It  is  in 
the  same  set  with  "Agamemnon,"  with  "Lear,"  with  the  literature  that  we  now 
instinctively  regard  as  high  and  holy.' — Daily  Chronicle. 

'A.G."    VERSES  TO  ORDER.    By"A.  G."    Cr.Zvo.    2s.6ct. 

net. 

A   mall  volume  of  verse  by  a  writer  whose  initials  are  well  known  to  Oxford  men. 
A  capital  specimen  of  light  academic  poetry.     These  verses  are  very  bright  and 

engaging,  easy  and  sufficiently  witty.' — St.  fames' s  Gazette. 

Hosken.     VERSES    BY    THE   WAY.    BY  J.   D.    HOSKEN. 

Crown  8vo.     $s. 


MESSRS.  METIIUEN'S  LIST  n 

Gale.  CRICKET  SONGS.  By  NORMAN  GALE.  Crown  %vo. 
Linen.  2s.  6d. 

'  Simple,  manly,  and  humorous.   Every  cricketer  should  buy  the  book.' — Westminster 

Gazette. 
'  Cricket  has  never  known  such  a  singer.' — Cricket. 

Langbridge.  BALLADS  OF  THE  BRAVE :  Poems  of  Chivalry, 
Enterprise,  Courage,  and  Constancy,  from  the  Earliest  Times  to  the 
Present  Day.  Edited,  with  Notes,  by  Rev.  F.  LANGBRIDGE. 
Crown  8vo.  Buckram.  3$.  6d.  School  Edition.  2s.  6d. 

'  A  very  h  appy  conception  happily  carried  out.  These  "Ballads  of  the  Brave"  are 
intended  to  suit  the  real  tastes  of  boys,  and  will  suit  the  taste  of  the  great  majority." 
^Spectator.  '  The  book  is  full  of  splendid  things. '—  World. 


English  Classics 

Edited  by  W.  E.  HENLEY. 


Messrs.  Methuen  are  publishing,  under  this  title,  some  of  the  masterpieces  of  the 
English  tongue,  which,  while  well  within  the  reach  of  the  average  buyer,  shall  be 
at  once  an  ornament  to  the  shelf  of  him  that  owns,  and  a  delight  to  the  eye  of 
him  that  reads. 

'  This  new  edition  of  a  great  classic  might  make  an  honourable  appearance  in  any 
library  in  the  world.  Printed  by  Constable  on  laid  paper,  bound  in  most  artistic 
and  restful-looking  fig-green  buckram,  with  a  frontispiece  portrait,  the  book  might 
well  be  issued  at  three  times  its  present  price.' — Irish  Independent. 

'Very  dainty  volumes  are  these  ;  the  paper,  type,  and  light-green  binding  are  all 
very  agreeable  to  the  eye.  Simplex  munditiis  is  the  phrase  that  might  be  applied 
to  them.' — Globe. 

'  The  volumes  are  strongly  bound  in  green  buckram,  are  of  a  convenient  size,  and 
pleasant  to  look  upon,  so  that  whether  on  the  shelf,  or  on  the  table,  or  in  the  hand 
the  possessor  is  thoroughly  content  with  them. '—  Guardian. 

'  The  paper,  type,  and  binding  of  this  edition  are  in  excellent  taste,  and  leave 
nothing  to  be  desired  by  lovers  of  literature.' — Standard. 

'  Two  handsome  and  finely-printed  volumes,  light  to  hold,  pleasing  to  look  at,  easy 

to  read.1 — National  Observer.  \. 

THE  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF  TRISTRAM  SHANDY. 
By  LAWRENCE  STERNE.  With  an  Introduction  by  CHARLES 
WHIBLEY,  and  a  Portrait.  2  vols.  Js. 

THE  COMEDIES  OF  WILLIAM  CONGREVE.  With 
an  Introduction  by  G.  S.  STREET,  and  a  Portrait.  2  vols.  JS. 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  HAJJI  BABA  OF  ISPAHAN 
By  JAMES  MORIER.  With  an  Introduction  by  E.  G.  BROWNE,  M.  A., 
and  a  Portrait.  2  vols.  fs. 


12  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

THE  LIVES  OF  DONNE,  WOTTON,  HOOKER,  HER 
BERT,  AND  SANDERSON.  By  IZAAK  WALTON.  With  an 
Introduction  by  VERNON  BLACKBURN,  and  a  Portrait.  $s.  6d. 

THE  LIVES  OF  THE  ENGLISH  POETS.  By  SAMUEL 
JOHNSON,  LL.D.  With  an  Introduction  by  J.  H.  MILLAR,  and  a 
Portrait.  3  vols.  IQS.  6d. 


Illustrated   Books 

Jane  Barlow.    THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  FROGS  AND  MICE, 

translated  by  JANE  BARLOW,  Author  of  '  Irish  Idylls,'  and  pictured 
by  F.  D.  BEDFORD.     Small  ^to.     6s.  net. 

S.  Baring  Gould.  A  BOOK  OF  FAIRY  TALES  retold  by  S. 
BARING  GOULD.  With  numerous  illustrations  and  initial  letters  by 
ARTHUR  J.  GASKIN.  Second  Edition.  Crown  &vo.  Buckram.  6s. 

'Mr.  Baring  Gould  has  done  a  good  deed,  and  is  deserving  of  gratitude,  in  re-writing 
in  honest,  simple  style  the  old  stories  that  delighted  the  childhood  of  "  pur  fathers 
and  grandfathers."  We  do  not  think  he  has  omitted  any  of  our  favourite  stories, 
the  stories  that  are  commonly  regarded  as  merely  "  old  fashioned."  As  to  the  form 
of  the  book,  and  the  printing,  which  is  by  Messrs.  Constable,  it  were  difficult  to 
commend  overmuch.  — Saturday  Review. 

S.  Baring  Gould.  OLD  ENGLISH  FAIRY  TALES.  Col 
lected  and  edited  by  S.  BARING  GOULD.  With  Numerous  Illustra 
tions  by  F.  D.  BEDFORD.  Second  Edition.  CrownSvo.  Btickram.  6s. 

This  volume  consists  of  some  of  the  old  English  stories  which  have  been  lost  to  sight, 
and  they  are  fully  illustrated  by  Mr.  Bedford. 

1  Nineteen  stories  which  will  probably  be  new  to  everybody,  who  is  not  an  antiquarian 
or  a  bibliographer.  A  book  in  which  children  will  revel.' — Daily  Telegraph. 

'  Of  the  fairy  tal-s,  first  place  must  be  given  to  the  collection  of  "  Old  English  Fairy 
Tales"  of  Mr.  S.  Baring  Gould,  in  introducing  which  the  author  expresses  his 
surprise  that  no  collection  had  before  been  attempted  and  adapted  to  the  reading 
of  children  of  the  old  delightful  English  folk-tales  and  traditionary  stories.  He 
has  gone  to  the  most  ancient  sources,  and  presents  to  young  readers  in  this 
volume  a  series  of  seventeen,  told  in  his  own  way,  and  illustrated  by  F.  D.  Bed 
ford.  We  can  conceive  of  no  more  charming  gift-book  for  children  than  this 
volume.' — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

'  The  only  collection  of  really  old  English  fairy  tales  that  we  have.' — Woman. 

'A  charming  volume,  which  children  will  be  sure  to  appreciate.  The  stories  have 
been  selected  with  great  ingenuity  from  various  old  ballads  and  folk-tales,  and, 
having  been  somewhat  altered  and  readjusted,  now  stand  forth,  clothed  in  Mr. 
Baring-Gould's  delightful  English,  to  enchant  youthful  readers.  All  the  tales 
are  good.' — Guardian. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST  13 

S.  Baring  Gould.  A  BOOK  OF  NURSERY  SONGS  AND 
RHYMES.  Edited  by  S.  BARING  GOULD,  and  Illustrated  by  the 
Students  of  the  Birmingham  Art  School.  Buckram >  gilt  top. 
Crown  2>vo.  6s. 

'  The  volume  is  very  complete  in  its  way,  as  it  contains  nursery  songs  to  the  number 
of  77,  game-rhymes,  and  jingles.  To  the  student  we  commend  the  sensible  intro 
duction,  and  the  explanatory  notes.  The  volume  is  superbly  printed  on  sofr, 
thick  paper,  which  it  is  a  pleasure  to  touch  ;  and  the  borders  and  pictures  are,  as 
we  have  said,  among  the  very  best  specimens  we  have  seen  of  the  Gaskin  school.' 
— Birmingham  Gazette. 

1  One  of  the  most  artistic  Christmas  books  of  the  season.  Every  page  is  surrounded 
by  a  quaint  design,  and  the  illustrations  are  in  the  same  spirit.  The  collection 
itself  is  admirably  done,  and  provides  a  prodigious  wealth  of  the  rhymes  genera 
tions  of  English  people  have  learned  in  tender  years.  A  more  charming  volume 
of  its  kind  has  not  been  issued  this  season.' — Record. 

'  A  perfect  treasure.' — Black  and  White. 

'The  collection  of  nursery  rhymes  is,  since  it  has  been  made  by  Mr.  Baring  Gould, 
very  complete,  and  among  the  game-rhymes  we  have  found  several  quite  new 
ones.  The  notes  are  just  what  is  wanted.' — Bookman. 

H.  C.  Beeching.  A  BOOK  OF  CHRISTMAS  VERSE.  Edited 
by  H.  C.  BEECHING,  M.A.,  and  Illustrated  by  WALTER  CRANE. 
Crown  &vo.  $s. 

A  collection  of  the  best  verse  inspired  by  the  birth  of  Christ  from  the  Middle  Ages 
to  the  present  day.  Mr.  Walter  Crane  has  designed  several  illustrations  and  the 
cover.  A  distinction  of  the  book  is  the  large  number  of  poems  it  contains  by 
modern  authors,  a  few  of  which  are  here  printed  for  the  first  time. 

'"A  Book  of  Christmas  Verse,"  selected  by  so  good  a  judge  of  poetry  as  Mr. 
Beeching,  and  picturesquely  illustrated  by  Mr.  Crane,  is  likely  to  prove  a  popular 
Christmas  book,  more  especially  as  it  is  printed  by  Messrs.  Constable,  with  their 
usual  excellence  of  typography.' — Athcna-nm. 

'  A  very  pleasing  anthology,  well  arranged  and  well  edited.' — Manchester  Guardian. 

'A  beautiful  anthology.' — Daily  Chronicle. 

'An  anthology  which,  from  its  unity  of  aim  and  high  poetic  excellence,  has  a  better 
right  to  exist  than  most  of  its  fellows.' — Guardian. 

'  As  well-chosen  and  complete  a  collection  as  we  have  seen.' — Spectator. 

History 

Flinders  Petrie.  A  HISTORY  OF  EGYPT,  FROM  THK 
EARLIEST  TIMES  TO  THE  PRESENT  DAY.  Edited  by  W.  M. 
FLINDERS  PETRIE,  D.C.L.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  Egyptology  at 
University  College.  Ftilly  llhistrated.  In  Six  Volumes.  Crown 
8vo.  6s.  each. 
Vol.  I.  PREHISTORIC  TO  EIGHTEENTH  DYNASTY.  W.  M.  F. 

Petrie.     Second  Edition. 

'  A  history  written  in  the  spirit  of  scientific  precision  so  worthily  represented  by  Dr. 
Petrie  and  his  school  cannot  but  promote  sound  and  accurate  study,  and 
supply  a  vacant  place  in  the  English  literature  of  Egyptology.'—  Times. 


14  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

Flinders  Petrie.  EGYPTIAN  TALES.  Edited  by  W.  M. 
FLINDERS  PETRIE.  Illustrated  by  TRISTRAM  ELLIS.  In  Two 
Volumes.  Crown  8vo.  3$.  6d.  each. 

'A  valuable  addition  to  the  literature  of  comparative  folk-lore.  The  drawings  are 
really  illustrations  in  the  literal  sense  of  the  word.' — Globe. 

1  It  has  a  scientific  value  to  the  student  of  history  and  archaeology.'— Scotsman. 
'Invaluable  as  a  picture  of  life  in  Palestine  and  Egypt.' — Daily  News. 

Flinders  Petrie.  EGYPTIAN  DECORATIVE  ART.  By 
W.  M.  FLINDERS  PETRIE,  D.C.L.  With  120  Illustrations.  Crown 
%vo.  3*.  6d. 

'  Professor  Flinders  Petrie  is  not  only  a  profound  Egyptologist,  but  an  accomplished 
student  of  comparative  archaeology.  In  these  lectures,  delivered  at  the  Royal 
Institution,  he  displays  both  qualifications  with  rare  skill  in  elucidating  the 
development  of  decorative  art  in  Egypt,  and  in  tracing  its  influence  on  the 
art  of  other  countries.  Few  experts  can  speak  with  higher  authority  and  wider 
knowledge  than  the  Professor  himself,  and  in  any  case  his  treatment  of  his  sub 
ject  is  full  of  learning  and  insight.' — Times. 

S.  Baring  Gould.      THE    TRAGEDY   OF  THE   C^SARS. 

The  Emperors  of  the  Julian  and  Claudian  Lines.  With  numerous 
Illustrations  from  Busts,  Gems,  Cameos,  etc.  By  S.  BARING  GOULD, 
Author  of 'Mehalah,' etc.  Third  Edition.  Royal '  %vo.  i$s. 

4  A  most  splendid  and  fascinating  book  on  a  subject  of  undying  interest.  The  great 
feature  of  the  book  is  the  use  the  author  has  made  of  the  existing  portraits  of  the 
Caesars,  and  the  admirable  critical  subtlety  he  has  exhibited  in  dealing  with  this 
line  of  research.  It  is  brilliantly  written,  and  the  illustrations  are  supplied  on  a 
scale  of  profuse  magnificence. ' — Daily  Chronicle. 

4  The  volumes  will  in  no  sense  disappoint  the  general  reader.  Indeed,  in  their  way, 
there  is  nothing  in  any  sense  so  good  in  English.  .  .  .  Mr.  Baring  Gould  has 
presented  his  narrative  in  such  a  way  as  not  to  make  one  dull  page.' — AtheneeuM. 

Clark.  THE  COLLEGES  OF  OXFORD  :  Their  History  and 
their  Traditions.  By  Members  of  the  University.  Edited  by  A. 
CLARK,  M.A.,  Fellow  and  Tutor  of  Lincoln  College.  8vo.  12s.  6d. 

'  A  work  which  will  certainly  be  appealed  to  for  many  years  as  the  standard  book  on 
the  Colleges  of  Oxford.' — Athenceum. 

Perrens.  THE  HISTORY  OF  FLORENCE  FROM  1434 
TO  1492.  By  F.  T.  PERRENS.  Translated  by  HANNAH  LYNCH. 
8vo.  12s.  6d. 

A  history  of  Florence   under   the  domination  of  Cosimo,  Piero,  and  Lorenzo  de 

Medicis. 
'  This  is  a  standard  book  by  an  honest  and  intelligent  historian,  who  has  deserved 

well  of  all  who  are  interested  in  Italian  history.' — Manchester  Guardian. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST  15 

E.  L.  S.  Horsburgh.     THE  CAMPAIGN  OF  WATERLOO. 

By  E.  L.  S.  HORSBURGH,  B.A.     With  Plans.     Crown  &vo.     5*. 

A  brilliant  essay — simple,  sound,  and  thorough.' — Daily  Chronicle. 

1  A  study,  the  most  concise,  the  most  lucid,  the  most  critical  that  has  been  produced.' 
— Birmingham  Mercury, 

1 A  careful  and  precise  study,  a  fair  and  impartial  criticism,  and  an  eminently  read 
able  book.' — Admiralty  and  Horse  Guards  Gazette. 

George.     BATTLES  OF  ENGLISH   HISTORY.     By   H.   B. 

GEORGE,  M.A.,  Fellow  of  New  College,  Oxford.     With  numerous 
Plans.     Second  Edition.     Crown  8v0.     6s. 
Mr.  George  has  undertaken  a  very  useful  task — that  of  making  military  affairs  in- 


work  and  on  the  prospect  of  the  reward  he  has  well  deserved  for  so  much  con 
scientious  and  sustained  labour." — Daily  Chronicle. 

Browning.  A  SHORT  HISTORY  OF  MEDIEVAL  ITALY 
A.D.  1250-1530.  By  OSCAR  BROWNING,  Fellow  and  Tutor  of  King's 
College,  Cambridge.  Second  Edition.  In  Two  Volumes.  Crown 
8v0.  5-r.  each. 

VOL.  i.  1250-1409. — Guelphs  and  Ghibellines. 

VOL.  n.  1409-1530. — The  Age  of  the  Condottieri. 

A  vivid  picture  of  mediaeval  Italy.' — Standard. 

1  Mr.  Browning  is  to  be  congratulated  on  the  production  of  a  work  of  immense 
labour  and  learning. ' —  Westminster  Gazette. 

O'Grady.      THE    STORY    OF    IRELAND.      By    STANDISH 

O'GRADY,  Author  of  *  Finn  and  his  Companions.'     Cr.  8v0.     2s.  6d. 

'  Most  delightful,  most   stimulating.     Its   racy   humour,    its   original   imaginings, 

make  it  one  of  the  freshest,  breeziest  volumes.' — Methodist  Times. 
A  survey  at  once  graphic,  acute,  and  quaintly  written.' — Times. 


Biography 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson.  VAILIMA  LETTERS.  By  ROBERT 
Louis  STEVENSON.  With  an  Etched  Portrait  by  WILLIAM  STRANG, 
and  other  Illustrations.  Second  Edition.  Crown  8v0.  Buckram. 
7s.  6d. 

Also  125  copies  on  hand-made  paper.     Demy  Sv0.     2$s.  net. 
1  The  book  is,  on  the  one  hand,  a  new  revelation  of  a  most  lovable  personality,  and, 
on  the  other,  it  abounds  in  passages  of  the  most  charming  prose — personal,  de 
scriptive,  humorous,  or  all  three  ;  exquisite  vignettes  of  Samoan  scenery,  passages 


the  household,  and  altogether  a  picture  of  a  character  and  surroundings  that  have 
never  before  been  brought  together  since  Britons  took  to  writing  books  and 
travelling  across  the  seas.  The  Vailima  Letters  are  rich  in  all  the  varieties  of  that 
charm  which  have  secured  for  Stevenson  the  affection  of  many  others  besides 
"journalists,  fellow-novelists,  and  boys.'" — The  Times. 
'  Few  publications  have  in  our  time  been  more  eagerly  awaited  than  these  "Vailima 


16  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

Letters,"  giving  the  first  fruits  of  the  correspondence  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

But,  high  as  the  tide  of  expectation  has  run,  no  reader  can  possibly  be  disappointed 

in  the  result.' — St.  James  s  Gazette. 
'  For  the  student  of  English  literature  these  letters  indeed  are  a  treasure.     They 

are  more  like  "  Scott's  Journal"  in  kind  than  any  other  literary  autobiography.' 

— National  Observer. 
'One  of  the  most  noteworthy  and  most  charming  of  the  volumes  of  letters  that  have 

appeared  in  our  time  or  in  our  language. ' — Scotsman. 
1  Eagerly  as  we  awaited  this  volume,  it  has  proved  a  gift  exceeding  all  our  hopes — a 

gift,  I  think,  almost  priceless.     It  unites  in  the  rarest  manner  the  value  of  a 

familiar  correspondence  with  the  value  of  an  intimate  journal.' — A.  T.  Q.  C.,  in 

Speaker. 

Collingwood.    THE   LIFE   OF  JOHN  RUSKIN.    By  W.  G. 

COLLINGWOOD,    M.A.,    Editor    of   Mr.    Ruskin's    Poems.      With 

numerous   Portraits,   and   13   Drawings   by   Mr.    Ruskin.      Second 

Edition.     2  vols.     8vo.     32^. 

'  No  more  magnificent  volumes  have  been  published  for  a  long  time.  .  .  .' — Times. 
1  It  is  long  since  we  have  had  a  biography  with  such  delights  of  substance  and  of 

form.      Such  a  book  is  a  pleasure   for  the  day,  and  a  joy    for  ever.' — Daily 

Chronicle. 
'A  noble  monument  of  a  noble  subject.     One  of  the  most  beautiful  books  about  one 

of  the  noblest  lives  of  our  century.' — Glasgow  Herald. 

Waldstein.  JOHN  RUSKIN  :  a  Study.  By  CHARLES  WALD- 
STEIN,  M.A.,  Fellow  of  King's  College,  Cambridge.  With  a  Photo 
gravure  Portrait  after  Professor  HERKOMER.  Post  8vo.  $s. 

'A  thoughtful,  impartial,  well-written  criticism  of  Ruskin's  teaching,  intended  to 
separate  what  the  author  regards  as  valuable  and  permanent  from  what  is  transient 
and  erroneous  in  the  great  master's  writing.' — Daily  Chronicle. 

W.  H.  Hutton.  THE  LIFE  OF  SIR  THOMAS  MORE.  By 
W.  H.  HUTTON,  M.A.,  Author  of  «  William  Laud.'  With  Portraits. 
Crown  8vo.  $s. 

'Mr.  Wm.  Holden  Hutton  has  in  a  neat  volume  of  less  than  300  pages,  told 
the  story  of  the  life  of  More,  and  he  has  placed  it  in  such  a  well-painted 
setting  of  the  times  in  which  he  lived,  and  so  accompanied  it  by  brief  outlines 
of  his  principal  writings,  that  the  book  lays  good  claim  to  high  rank  among 
our  biographies.  The  work,  it  may  be  said,  is  excellently,  even  lovingly,  written.1 
— Scotsman. 

'  An  excellent  monograph.' — Times. 

'  A  most  complete  presentation.' — Daily  Chronicle. 

Kaufmann.     CHARLES    KINGSLEY.     By  M.   KAUFMANN, 

M.A.     Crown  8vo.     Buckram.     $s. 

A  biography  of  Kingsley,  especially  dealing  with  his  achievements  in  social  reform. 
1  The  author  has  certainly  gone  about  his  work  with  conscientiousness  and  industry.' — 
Sheffield  Daily  Telegraph. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST  17 

Bobbins.  THE  EARLY  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  EWART 
GLADSTONE.  By  A.  F.  ROBBINS.  With  Portraits.  Crown 
8v0.  6s. 

'  Considerable  labour  and  much  skill   of  presentation  have  not  been   unworthily 
expended  on  this  interesting  work.' — Times. 

Clark  Russell.     THE  LIFE   OF   ADMIRAL   LORD    COL- 

LINGWOOD.  By  W.  CLARK  RUSSELL,  Author  of  « The  Wreck 
of  the  Grosvenor.'  With  Illustrations  by  F.  BRANGWYN.  Second 
Edition.  Crown  8vo.  6s. 

'  A  most  excellent  and  wholesome  book,  which  we  should  like  to  see  in  the  hands  of 

every  boy  in  the  country.' — St.  James's  Gazette. 
1 A  really  good  book.' — Saturday  Review. 
'  A  most  excellent  and  wholesome  book,  which  we  should  like  to  see  in  the  hands 

of  every  boy  in  the  country.' — St.  James's  Gazette. 

Soutney.  ENGLISH  SEAMEN  (Howard,  Clifford,  Hawkins, 
Drake,  Cavendish).  By  ROBERT  SOUTHEY.  Edited,  with  an 
Introduction,  by  DAVID  HANNAY.  Crown  8vo.  6s. 

*  Admirable  and  well-told  stories  of  our  naval  history.' — Army  and  Navy  Gazette. 
*A  brave,  inspiriting  book.' — Black  and  White. 

*  The  work  of  a  master  of  style,  and  delightful  all  through.' — Daily  Chronicle. 


General  Literature 

S.  Baring  Gould.     OLD  COUNTRY  LIFE.     By  S.   BARING 

GOULD,  Author  of  '  Mehalah,'  etc.  With  Sixty-seven  Illustrations 
by  W.  PARKINSON,  F.  D.  BEDFORD,  and  F.  MASEY.  Largy 
Crown  8v0,  cloth  super  extra ,  top  edge  gilt^  los.  6d.  Fifth  and 
Cheaper  Edition.  6s. 

'"Old  Country  Life,"  as  healthy  wholesome  reading,  full  of  breezy  life  and  move 
ment,  full  of  quaint  stories  vigorously  told,  will  not  be  excelled  by  any  book  to  be 
published  throughout  the  year.  Sound,  hearty,  and  English  to  the  core.' — World. 

S.  Baring  Gould.     HISTORIC  ODDITIES  AND  STRANGE 

EVENTS.  By  S.  BARING  GOULD,  Author  of  «  Mehalah,'  etc. 
Third  Edition.  Crown  &vo.  6s. 

*  A  collection  of  exciting  and  entertaining  chapters.  The  whole  volume  is  delightful 
reading.'—  Times. 

S.  Baring  Gould.    FREAKS  OF  FANATICISM.   By  S.  BARING 

GOULD,  Author  of 'Mehalah,' etc.    Third  Edition.    CrownSvo.    6s. 
*Mr.  Baring  Gould  has  a  keen  eye  for  colour  and  effect,  and  the  subjects  he  has 
chosen  give  ample  scope  to  his  descriptive  and  analytic  faculties.     A  perfectly 
fascinating  book.' — Scottish  Leader. 

A  3 


i8  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

S.    Baring  Gould.     A  GARLAND   OF   COUNTRY  SONG  : 

English  Folk  Songs  with  their  Traditional  Melodies.  Collected  and 
arranged  by  S.  BARING  GOULD  and  H.  FLEETWOOD  SHEPPARD. 
Demy  4/0.  6s. 

S.    Baring  Gould.      SONGS   OF   THE    WEST:   Traditional 

Ballads  and  Songs  of  the  West  of  England,  with  their  Traditional 
Melodies.  Collected  by  S.  BARING  GOULD,  M. A.,  and  H.  FLEET- 
WOOD  SHEPPARD,  M.  A.  Arranged  for  Voice  and  Piano.  In  4  Parts 
(containing  25  Songs  each),  Parts  /.,  //.,  ///.,  $s.  each.  Part 
IV.)  $s.  In  one  Vol.,  French  morocco,  i$s, 
4  A  rich  collection  of  humour,  pathos,  grace,  and  poetic  fancy.' — Saturday  Review. 

S.  Baring  Gould.  YORKSHIRE  ODDITIES  AND  STRANGE 
EVENTS.  Fourth  Edition.  Crown  8vo.  6s. 

S.  Baring  Gould.  STRANGE  SURVIVALS  AND  SUPER 
STITIONS.  With  Illustrations.  By  S.  BARING  GOULD.  Crown 
8v0.  Second  Edition.  6s. 

'  We  have  read  Mr.  Baring  Gould's  book  from  beginning  to  end.  It  is  full  of  quaint 
and  various  information,  and  there  is  not  a  dull  page  in  it. ' — Notes  and  Queries. 

S.  Baring  Gould.  THE  DESERTS  OF  SOUTHERN 
FRANCE.  By  S.  BARING. GOULD.  With  numerous  Illustrations 
by  F.  D.  BEDFORD,  S.  HUTTON,  etc.  2  vols.  Demy  Sw.  32^. 

This  book  is  the  first  serious  attempt  to  describe  the  great  barren  tableland  that 
extends  to  the  south  of  Limousin  in  the  Department  of  Aveyron,  Lot,  etc.,  a 
country  of  dolomite  cliffs,  and  canons,  and  subterranean  rivers.  The  region  is 
full  of  prehistoric  and  historic  interest,  relics  of  cave-dwellers,  of  mediaeval 
robbers,  and  of  the  English  domination  and  the  Hundred  Years'  War. 

'  His  two  richly-illustrated  volumes  are  full  of  matter  of  interest  to  the  geologist, 
the  archaeologist,  and  the  student  of  history  and  manners.' — Scotsman. 

*  It  deals  with  its  subject  in  a  manner  which  rarely  fails  to  arrest  attention.' — Times. 

W.  E.  Gladstone.  THE  SPEECHES  AND  PUBLIC  AD 
DRESSES  OF  THE  RT.  HON.  W.  E.  GLADSTONE,  M.P. 
Edited  by  A.  W.  HUTTON,  M.A.,  and  H.  J.  COHEN,  M.A.  With 
Portraits.  &vo.  Vols.  IX.  and  X.  12s.  6d.  each. 

Henley  and  Whibley.  A  BOOK  OF  ENGLISH  PROSE. 
Collected  by  W.  E.  HENLEY  and  CHARLES  WHIBLEY.  Cr.  %vo.  6s. 

'A  unique  volume  of  extracts — an  art  gallery  of  early  prose.' — Birmingham  Post. 

*  An  admirable  companion  to  Mr.  Henley's  "Lyra  Heroica." ' — Saturday  Review. 

*  Quite  delightful.     The  choice  made  has  been  excellent,  and  the  volume  has  been 

most  admirably  printed  by  Messrs.  Constable.  A  greater  treat  for  those  not  well 
acquainted  with  pre-Restoration  prose  could  not  be  imagined.' — Athenceum. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST  19 

Wells.  OXFORD  AND  OXFORD  LIFE.  By  Members  of 
the  University.  Edited  byj.  WELLS,  M.A.,  Fellow  and  Tutor  of 
Wadham  College.  Crorvn  &vo.  y.  6d. 

This  work  contains  an  account  of  life  at  Oxford — intellectual,  social,  and  religious — 
a  careful  estimate  of  necessary  expenses,  a  review  of  recent  changes,  a  statement 
of  the  present  position  of  the  University,  and  chapters  on  Women's  Education, 
aids  to  study,  and  University  Extension. 

'  We  congratulate  Mr.  Wells  on  the  production  of  a  readable  and  intelligent  account 
of  Oxford  as  it  is  at  the  present  time,  written  by  persons  who  are  possessed  of  a 
close  acquaintance  with  the  system  and  life  of  the  University.' — Athentzum. 

W.  B.  Worsfold.  SOUTH  AFRICA  :  Its  History  and  its  Future. 
By  W.  BASIL  WORSFOLD,  M.  A.  With  a  Map.  Crown  8vo.  6s. 

4  An  intensely  interesting  book.' — Daily  Chronicle, 

*  A  monumental  work  compressed  into  a  very  moderate  compass.     The  early  history 

of  the  colony,  its  agricultural  resources,  literature,  and  gold  and  diamond  mines 
are  all  clearly  described,  besides  the  main  features  of  recent  Kaffir  and  Boer 
campaigns  ;  nor  (to  bring  his  record  quite  up  to  date)  does  the  author  fail  to  devote 
a  chapter  to  Mr.  Cecil  Rhodes,  the  Chartered  Company,  and  the  Boer  Conven 
tion  of  1884.  Additional  information  from  sources  not  usually  accessible  is  to  be 
found  in  the  notes  at  the  end  of  the  book,  as  well  as  a  historical  summary,  a 
statistical  appendix,  and  other  matters  of  special  interest  at  the  present  moment.' 
— World. 

Ouida.  VIEWS  AND  OPINIONS.  By  OUIDA.  Crown  %vo. 
Second  Edition.  6s. 

*  Ouida  is  outspoken,  and  the  reader  of  this  book  will  not  have  a  dull  moment.    The 

book  is  full  of  variety,  and  sparkles  with  entertaining  matter.' — Speaker. 

J.  S.  Shedlock.     THE  PIANOFORTE  SONATA :  Its  Origin 

and  Development.     By  J.  S.  SHEDLOCK.     Crown  8vo.     5*. 

'  This  work  should  be  in  the  possession  of  every  musician  and  amateur,  for  it  not 
only  embodies  a  concise  and  lucid  history  ot  the  origin  of  one  of  the  most  im 
portant  forms  of  musical  composition,  but,  by  reason  of  the  painstaking  research 
and  accuracy  of  the  author's  statements,  it  is  a  very  valuable  work  for  reference.' 
— A  thenatum. 

Bowden.  THE  EXAMPLE  OF  BUDDHA:  Being  Quota 
tions  from  Buddhist  Literature  for  each  Day  in  the  Year.  Compiled 
by  E.  M.  BOWDEN.  With  Preface  by  Sir  EDWIN  ARNOLD.  Third 
Edition,  \6rno.  2s.  6d. 

Bnshill.  PROFIT  SHARING  AND  THE  LABOUR  QUES 
TION.  By  T.  W.  BUSHILL,  a  Profit  Sharing  Employer.  Crown 
Svo.  2s.  6d. 

John  Beever.      PRACTICAL    FLY-FISHING.    Founded   on 
Nature,  by  JOHN  BEEVER,  late  of  the  Thwaite  House,  Coniston.     A 
New  Edition,  with  a  Memoir  of  the  Author  by  W.  G.  COLLINGWOOD, 
M.A.     Crown  &vo.     $s.  6d. 
A  little  book  on  Fly-Fishing  by  an  old  friend  of  Mr.  Ruskln. 


2o  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

Science 

Freudenreich.  DAIRY  BACTERIOLOGY.  A  Short  Manual 
for  the  Use  of  Students.  By  Dr.  ED.  VON  FREUDENREICH. 
Translated  from  the  German  by  J.  R.  AlNSWORTH  DAVIS,  B.A., 
F.C.P.  Crown  ^vo.  2s.6d. 

Chalmers    Mitchell.     OUTLINES   OF  BIOLOGY.     By   P. 

CHALMERS  MITCHELL,    M.A.,  F.Z.S.     Fully  Illustrated.     Crown 
8vo.     6s. 

A  text-book  designed  to  cover  the  new   Schedule   issued  by  the  Royal  College  of 
Physicians  and  Surgeons. 

Massee.    A  MONOGRAPH  OF  THE  MYXOGASTRES.    By 

GEORGE  MASSEE.     With  12  Coloured  Plates.     Royal '  8vo.     i?>s.net. 
'  A  work  much  in  advance  of  any  book  in  the  language  treating  of  this  group  of 
organisms.      It   is  indispensable  to  every  student   of  the   Myxogastres.     The 
coloured  plates  deserve  high  praise  for  their  accuracy  and  execution.' — Nature. 


Theology  and   Philosophy 

Driver.  SERMONS  ON  SUBJECTS  CONNECTED  WITH 
THE  OLD  TESTAMENT.  By  S.  R.  DRIVER,  D.D.,  Canon  of 
Christ  Church,  Regius  Professor  of  Hebrew  in  the  University  of 
Oxford.  Crown  8vo.  6s. 

A  welcome  companion  to  the  author's  famous  '  Introduction.'  No  man  can  read  these 
discourses  without  feeling  that  Dr.  Driver  is  fully  alive  to  the  deeper  teaching  of 
the  Old  Testament." — Guardian. 

Cheyne.  FOUNDERS  OF  OLD  TESTAMENT  CRITICISM  : 
Biographical,  Descriptive,  and  Critical  Studies.  By  T.  K.  CHEYNE, 
D.D.,  Oriel  Professor  of  the  Interpretation  of  Holy  Scripture  at 
Oxford.  Large  crown  8vo.  *]s.  6d. 

This  important  book  is  a  historical  sketch  of  O.  T.  Criticism  in  the  form  of  biographi 
cal  studies  from  the  days  of  Eichhorn  to  those  of  Driver  and  Robertson  Smith. 
It  is  the  only  book  of  its  kind  in  English. 
A  very  learned  and  instructive  work.' — Times. 

Prior.     CAMBRIDGE  SERMONS.    Edited  by  C.  H.  PRIOR, 

M.A.,  Fellow  and  Tutor  of  Pembroke  College.      Crown  8vo.     6s. 
A  volume  of  sermons    preached  before  the  University   of  Cambridge  by  various 

preachers,  including  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  and  Bishop  Westcott. 
'  A  representative  collection.     Bishop  Westcott's  is  a  noble  sermon.' — Guardian. 

Beeching.       SERMONS    TO    SCHOOLBOYS.      By   H.     C. 
BEECHING,  M.  A.,  Rector  of  Yattendon,  Berks.     With  a  Preface  by 
Canon  SCOTT  HOLLAND.     Crown  8vo.     2s.  6d. 
Seven  sermons  preached  before  the  boys  of  Bradfield  College. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST  21 

Layard.      RELIGION  IN  BOYHOOD.    Notes  on  the  Reli- 

f'ous  Training  of  Boys.     With  a  Preface  by  J.  R.   ILLINGWORTH. 
y  E.  B.  LAYARD,  M.A.     iSmo.     is. 

C.  J.  Shebbeare.  THE  GREEK  THEORY  OF  THE  STATE 
AND  THE  NONCONFORMIST  CONSCIENCE  :  a  Socialistic 
Defence  of  some  Ancient  Institutions.  By  CHARLES  JOHN  SHEB 
BEARE,  B.A.,  Christ  Church,  Oxford.  Croiun^vo.  2s.  6d. 

F.  S.  Granger.     THE  WORSHIP  OF   THE  ROMANS.     By 

F.  S.  GRANGER,  M.  A.,  Litt.D.,  Professor  of  Philosophy  at  Univer 
sity  College,  Nottingham.  Crown  Svo.  6s. 

The  author  has  attempted  to  delineate  that  group  of  beliefs  which  stood  in  close  con 
nection  with  the  Roman  religion,  and  among  the  subjects  treated  are  Dreams, 
Nature  Worship,  Roman  Magic,  Divination,  Holy  Places,  Victims,  etc.  Thus 
the  book  is,  apart  from  its  immediate  subject,  a  contribution  to  folk-lore  and  com 
parative  psychology. 

1  A  scholarly  analysis  of  the  religious  ceremonies,beliefs,  and  superstitions  of  ancient 
Rome,  conducted  in  the  new  instructive  light  of  comparative  anthropology.' — 
Times. 

*  This  is  an  analytical  and  critical  work  which  will  assist  the  student  of  Romish 
history  to  understand  the  factors  which  went  to  build  up  the  remarkable  charac 
teristics  of  the  old  Romans  especially  in  matters  appertaining  to  religion.'— 
Oxford  Review. 


2Detiotional 

With  Full-page  Illustrations.      Fcap.    Svo.      Buckram.      3^.    6d. 

Padded  morocco,  $s. 

THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST.  By  THOMAS  A  KEMPIS. 
With  an  Introduction  by  DEAN  FARRAR.  Illustrated  by  C.  M. 
GERE,  and  printed  in  black  and  red. 

'  Amongst  all  the  innumerable  English  editions  of  the  "  Imitation,"  there  can  have 
been  few  which  were  prettier  than  this  one,  printed  in  strong  and  handsome  type 
by  Messrs.  Constable,  with  all  the  glory  of  red  initials,  and  the  comfort  of  buckram 
binding.' — Glasgyw  Herald. 

THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR.  By  JOHN  KEBLE.  With  an  Intro 
duction  and  Notes  by  W.  LOCK,  M.A.,  Sub- Warden  of  Keble  College, 
Ireland  Professor  at  Oxford,  Author  of  the  '  Life  of  John  Keble.' 
Illustrated  by  R.  ANNING  BELL. 

'  The  present  edition  is  annotated  with  all  the  care  and  insight  to  be  expected  from 
Mr.  Lock.  The  progress  and  circumstances  of  its  composition  are  detailed  in  the 
Introduction.  There  is  in  an  interesting  Appendix  on  the  MSS.  of  the  "  Christian 
Year,"  and  another  giving  the  order  in  which  the  poems  were  written.  A  "  Short 
Analysis  of  the  Thought"  is  prefixed  to  each,  and  any  difficulty  in  the  text  is  ex 
plained  in  a  note.  When  we  add  to  all  this  that  the  book  is  printed  in  clear, 
black  type  on  excellent  paper,  and  bound  in  dull  red  buckram,  we  shall  have  said 
enough  to  vindicate  its  claim  to  a  place  among  the  prettiest  gift-books  of  the 
season. ' — Giiardian. 

'  The  most  acceptable  edition  of  this  ever  popular  work  with  which  we  are  ac- 
qainted. ' — Globe. 

*•  An  edition  which  should  be  recognised  as  the  best  extant.  .  .  .  The  edition  is  one 
which  John  Henry  Newman  and  the  late  Dean  Church  would  have  handled  with 
meet  and  affectionate  remembrance.' — Birmingham  Post. 


22  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

Leaders  of  Religion 

Edited  by  H.  C.  BEECHING,  M.  A.     With  Portraits,  crown  8w. 

A  series  of  short  biographies  of  the  most  prominent  leaders 
of  religious  life  and  thought  of  all  ages  and  countries. 

The  following  are  ready — 
CARDINAL  NEWMAN.     By  R.  H.  HUTTON. 
JOHN  WESLEY.     By  J.  H.  OVERTON,  M.A. 
BISHOP  WILBERFORCE.     By  G.  W.  DANIEL,  M.A. 
CARDINAL  MANNING.     By  A.  W.  HUTTON,  M.A. 
CHARLES  SIMEON.     By  H.  C.  G.  MOULE,  M.A. 
JOHN  KEBLE.    By  WALTER  LOCK,  M.A. 
THOMAS  CHALMERS.     By  Mrs.  OLIPHANT. 
LANCELOT  ANDREWES.     By  R.  L.  OTTLEY,  M.A. 
AUGUSTINE  OF  CANTERBURY.     By  E.  L.  CUTTS.  D.D. 
WILLIAM  LAUD.     By  W.  H.  HUTTON,  M.A. 
JOHN  KNOX.     By  F.  M'CUNN. 
JOHN  HOWE.     By  R.  F.  HORTON,  D.D. 

Other  volumes  will  be  announced  in  due  course. 

Fiction 

SIX    SHILLING    NOVELS 

Marie  Corelli.  BARABBAS  :  A  DREAM  OF  THE  WORLD'S 
TRAGEDY.  By  MARIE  CORELLI,  Author  of '  A  Romance  of  Two 
Worlds,' 'Vendetta, 'etc.  Twenty -first  Edition.  Crown  %vo.  6s. 

1  The  tender  reverence  of  the  treatment  and  the  imaginative  beauty  of  the  writing 
have  reconciled  us  to  the  daring  of  the  conception,  and  the  conviction  is  forced  on 
us  that  even  so  exalted  a  subject  cannot  be  made  too  familiar  to  us,  provided  it  be 
presented  in  the  true  spirit  of  Christian  faith.  The  amplifications  of  the  Scripture 
narrative  are  often  conceived  with  high  poetic  insight,  and  this  "Dream  of  the 
World's  Tragedy  "  is,  despite  some  trifling  incongruities,  a  lofty  and  not  inade 
quate  paraphrase  of  the  supreme  climax  of  the  inspired  narrative.' — Dublin 
Review. 

Marie  Corelli.     THE  SORROWS   OF  SATAN.    By  MARIE 

CORELLI.     Crown  8v0.     Seventeenth  Edition.     6s. 

'  There  is  in  Marie  Corelli's  work  a  spark  of  the  Divine.  Her  genius  is  neither  common 
nor  unclean.  She  has  a  far-reaching  and  gorgeous  imagination  ;  she  feels  the 
beautiful  intensely,  and  desires  it.  She  believes  in  God  and  in  good  ;  she  hopes 
for  the  kindest  and  the  best ;  she  is  dowered  with  "  the  scorn  of  scorn,  the  hate 
of  hate,  the  love  of  love."  There  is  to  be  discerned  in  her  work  that  sense  of  the 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST  23 

unseen  which  is  the  glad  but  solemn  prerogative  of  the  pure  in  heart.  Again, 
she  is  a  keen  observer,  a  powerful,  fearless,  caustic  satirist ;  she  makes  an  effec 
tive  protest,  and  enforces  a  grave  warning  against  the  follies  and  shams  and  vices 
of  the  age.' — Report  of  a  sermon  delivered  on  'The  Sorrows  of  Satan,'  by  the 
Rev.  A.  R.  HARRISON,  Vicar,  in  Tettenhall  Church,  Wolverhampton,  on  Sunday, 
November  1 2. —Midland  Evening  News. 

'  A  very  powerful  piece  of  work.  .  .  .  The  conception  is  magnificent,  and  is  likely 
to  win  an  abiding  place  within  the  memory  of  man.  .  .  .  The  author  has  immense 
command  of  language,  and  a  limitless  audacity.  .  .  .  This  interesting  and  re 
markable  romance  will  live  long  after  much  of  the  ephemeral  literature  of  the  day 
is  forgotten.  ...  A  literary  phenomenon  .  .  .  novel,  and  even  sublime.' — W.  T. 
STEAD  in  the  Review  of  Reviews. 

Anthony  Hope.  THE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR.  BY  ANTHONY 
HOPE,  Author  of  '  A  Change  of  Air, '  etc.  Seventh  Edition.  Crown 
Svo.  6s. 

'  A  very  remarkable  book,  deserving  of  critical  analysis  impossible  within  our  limit ; 
brilliant,  but  not  superficial ;  well  considered,  but  not  elaborated  ;  constructed 
with  the  proverbial  art  that  conceals,  but  yet  allows  itself  to  be  enjoyed  by  readers 
to  whom  fine  literary  method  is  a  keen  pleasure  ;  true  without  cynicism,  subtle 
without  affectation,  humorous  without  strain,  witty  without  offence,  inevitably 
sad,  with  an  unmorose  simplicity. '—  The  World. 

Anthony  Hope.    A  CHANGE  OF  AIR.    By  ANTHONY  HOPE, 

Author  of  '  The  Prisoner  of  Zenda,'  etc.  Third  Edition.  Crown 
8vo.  6s. 

'A  graceful,  vivacious  comedy,  true  to  human  nature.  The  characters  are  traced 
with  a  masterly  hand." — Times. 

Anthony  Hope.  A  MAN  OF  MARK.  By  ANTHONY  HOPE, 
Author  of  'The  Prisoner  of  Zenda/  'The  God  in  the  Car,'  etc. 
Third  Edition.  Crown  8vo.  6s. 

*  Of  all  Mr.  Hope's  books,  "  A  Man  of  Mark  "  is  the  one  which  best  compares  with 
"  The  Prisoner  of  Zenda."  The  two  romances  are  unmistakably  the  work  of  the 
same  writer,  and  he  possesses  a  style  of  narrative  peculiarly  seductive,  piquant, 
comprehensive,  and — his  own.' — National  Observer. 

k 

Anthony  Hope.  THE  CHRONICLES  OF  COUNT  ANTONIO. 

By  ANTHONY  HOPE,  Author  of  '  The  Prisoner  of  Zenda,'  '  The  God 
in  the  Car,' etc.  Third  Edition.  Crown  ^vo.  6s. 

'It  is  a  perfectly  enchanting  story  of  love  and  chivalry,  and  pure  romance.  The 
outlawed  Count  is  the  most  constant,  desperate,  and  withal  modest  and  tender  of 
lovers,  a  peerless  gentleman,  an  intrepid  fighter,  a  very  faithful  friend,  and  a  most 
magnanimous  foe.  In  short,  he  is  an  altogether  admirable,  lovable,  and  delight 
ful  hero.  There  is  not  a  word  in  the  volume  that  can  give  offence  to  the  most 
fastidious  taste  of  man  or  woman,  and  there  is  not,  either,  a  dull  paragraph  in  it. 
The  book  is  everywhere  instinct  with  the  most  exhilarating  spirit  of  adventure, 
and  delicately  perfumed  with  the  sentiment  of  all  heroic  and  honourable  deeds  of 
history  and  romance.' — Guardian. 


24  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

Oonan  Doyle.    ROUND  THE  RED  LAMP.     By  A.  CONAN 

DOYLE,   Author  of  'The   White   Company,'   'The  Adventures   of 
Sherlock  Holmes,'  etc.    Fourth  Edition.      Crown  %vo.     6s. 
'The  book  is,  indeed,  composed  of  leaves  from  life,  and  is  far  and  away  the  best  view 
that  has  been  vouchsafed  us  behind  the  scenes  of  the  consulting-room.     It  is  very 
superior  to  "  The  Diary  of  a  late  Physician." ' — Illustrated  London  News. 

Stanley  Weyman.  UNDER  THE  RED  ROBE.  By  STANLEY 
WEYMAN,  Author  of  '  A  Gentleman  of  France.'  With  Twelve  Illus 
trations  by  R.  Caton  Woodville.  Eighth  Edition.  Crown  8vo.  6s. 

'A  book  of  which  we  have  read  every  word  for  the  sheer  pleasure  of  reading,  and 
which  we  put  down  with  a  pang  that  we  cannot  forget  it  all  and  start  again.' — . 
Westminster  Gazette. 

'  Every  one  who  reads  books  at  all  must  read  this  thrilling  romance,  from  the  first 
page  of  which  to  the  last  the  breathless  reader  is  haled  along.  An  inspiration  of 
'manliness  and  courage.' — Daily  Chronicle. 

'A  delightful  tale  of  chivalry  and  adventure,  vivid  and  dramatic,  with  a  wholesome 
modesty  and  reverence  for  the  highest.' — Globe. 

Mrs.  Clifford.  A  FLASH  OF  SUMMER.  By  MRS.  W.  K. 
CLIFFORD,  Author  of  '  Aunt  Anne,'  etc.  Second  Edition.  Crown 
8vo.  6s. 

1  The  story  is  a  very  sad  and  a  very  beautiful  one,  exquisitely  told,  and  enriched  with 
many  subtle  touches  of  wise  and  tender  insight.  Mrs.  Clifford's  gentle  heroine  is 
a  most  lovable  creature,  contrasting  very  refreshingly  with  the  heroine  of  latter- 
day  fiction.  The  minor  characters  are  vividly  realised.  "A  Flash  of  Summer" 
is  altogether  an  admirable  piece  of  work,  wrought  with  strength  and  simplicity. 
It  will,  undoubtedly,  add  to  its  author's  reputation — already  high — in  the  ranks 
of  novelists.' — Speaker. 

'  We  must  congratulate  Mrs.  Clifford  upon  a  very  successful  and  interesting  story, 
told  throughout  with  finish  and  a  delicate  sense  of  proportion,  qualities  which, 
indeed,  have  always  distinguished  the  best  work  of  this  very  able  writer.' — 
Manchester  Guardian. 

Emily  Lawless.     MAELCHO  :  a  Sixteenth  Century  Romance. 
By  the  Hon.  EMILY  LAWLESS,  Author  of  '  Crania,'  '  Hurrish,'  etc. 
Second  Edition.     Crown  &vo.     6s. 
'  A  really  great  book.' — Spectator. 

1  There  is  no  keener  pleasure  in  life  than  the  recognition  of  genius.  Good  work  is 
commoner  than  it  used  to  be,  but  the  best  is  as  rare  as  ever.  All  the  more- 
gladly,  therefore,  do  we  welcome  in  "  Maelcho  "  a  piece  of  work  of  the  first  order, 
which  we  do  not  hesitate  to  describe  as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  literary 
achievements  of  this  generation.  Miss  Lawless  is  possessed  of  the  very  essence 
of  historical  genius.' — Manchester  Guardian. 

E.  F.  Benson.     DODO  :  A  DETAIL  OF  THE  DAY.  By  E.  F. 

BENSON.     Sixteenth  Edition.     Crown  %vo.     6s. 

'  A  delightfully  witty  sketch  of  society.' — Spectator. 
'  A  perpetual  feast  of  epigram  and  paradox." — Speaker. 
'  By  a  writer  of  quite  exceptional  ability.' — Athen&um. 
*  Brilliantly  written.' — World. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST  25 

E.  F.  Benson.    THE  RUBICON.    By  E.  F.  BENSON,  Author  of 
'Dodo.'     Fifth  Edition.     Crown  ^vo.     6s. 

'Well  written,  stimulating,   unconventional,    and,    in    a    word,    characteristic.'— 

Birmingham  Post. 
1  An  exceptional  achievement ;  a  notable  advance  on  his  previous  work.'— National 

Observer. 

M.  M.  Dowie.     GALLIA.    By  MENIE  MURIEL  DOWIE,  Author 
of  '  A  Girl  in  the  Carpathians. '     Third  Edition.     Crown  8vo.    6s. 

1  The  style  is  generally  admirable,  the  dialogue  not  seldom  brilliant,  the  situations 
surprising  in  their  freshness  and  originality,  while  the  subsidiary  as  well  as  the 
principal  characters  live  and  move,  and  the  story  itself  is  readable  from  title-page 
to  colophon.' — Saturday  Review. 

'  A  very  notable  book  ;  a  very  sympathetically,  at  times  delightfully  written  book. 
— Daily  Graphic. 

MR.  BARING  GOULD'S  NOVELS 

'To  say  that  a  book  is  by  the  author  of  "  Mehalah"  is  to  imply  that  it  contains  a 
story  cast  on  strong  lines,  containing  dramatic  possibilities,  vivid  and  sympathetic 
descriptions  of  Nature,  and  a  wealth  of  ingenious  imagery." — Speaker. 
'That  whatever  Mr.  Baring  Gould  writes  is  well  worth  reading,  is  a  conclusion  that 
may  be  very  generally  accepted.     His  views  of  life  are  fresh  and  vigorous,  his 
language  pointed  and  characteristic,  the  incidents  of  which  he  makes  use  are 
striking  and  original,  his  characters  are  life-like,  and  though  somewhat  excep 
tional  people,  are  drawn  and  coloured  with  artistic  force.     Add  to  this  that  his 
descriptions  of  scenes  and  scenery  are  painted  with  the  loving  eyes  and  skilled 
hands  of  a  master  of  his  art,  that  he  is  always  fresh  and  never  dull,  and  under 
such  conditions  it  is  no  wonder  that  readers  have  gained  confidence  both  in  his 
power  of  amusing  and  satisfying  them,  and  that  year"  by  year  his  popularity 
widens.' — Court  Circular. 

Baring  Gould.     URITH  :  A  Story  of  Dartmoor.     By  S.  BARING 

GOULD.     Third  Edition.     Crown  %vo.     6s. 
'  The  author  is  at  his  best.' — Times. 
1  He  has  nearly  reached  the  high  water-mark  of  "  Mehalah."  '—National  Observer. 

Baring  Gould.     IN  THE  ROAR  OF  THE  SEA:   A  Tale  of 
the  Cornish  Coast.     By  S.  BARING  GOULD.     Fifth  Edition.     6s. 

'One  of  the  best  imagined  and  most  enthralling  stories  the  author  has  produced.' 
— Saturday  Review. 

Baring  Gould.      MRS.  CURGENVEN   OF   CURGENVEN. 

By  S.  BARING  GOULD.     Fourth  Edition.     6s. 

'  A  novel  of  vigorous  humour  and  sustained  power.' — Graphic. 
'  The  swing  of  the  narrative  is  splendid.' — Sussex  Daily  Neivs. 

Baring  Gould.    CHEAP  JACK  ZITA.     By  S.  BARING  GOULD. 

Third  Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

'  A  powerful  drama  of  human  passion." — Westminster  Gazette. 
'A  story  worthy  the  author.'— National  Observer. 


26  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

S.  Baring  Gould.     THE  QUEEN  OF  LOVE.    By  S.  BARING 

GOULD.     Fourth  Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

The  scenery  is  admirable,  and  the  dramatic  incidents  are  most  striking.' — Glasgow 

Herald. 

Strong,  interesting,  and  clever." — Westminster  Gazette. 
1  You  cannot  put  it  down  until  you  have  finished  it.' — Punch. 

'  Can  be  heartily  recommended  to  all  who  care  for  cleanly,  energetic,  and  interesting 
fiction.' — Sussex  Daily  News. 

S.  Baring  Gould.     KITTY  ALONE.     By  S.  BARING  GOULD, 

Author   of  'Mehalah,'    'Cheap  Jack  Zita,'  etc.      Fourth  Edition. 
Crown  8vo.    6s. 

1  A  strong  and  original  story,  teeming  with  graphic  description,  stirring  incident, 

and,  above  all,  with  vivid  and  enthralling  human  interest.' — Daily  Telegraph. 
'  Brisk,  clever,  keen,  healthy,  humorous,  and  interesting.' — National  Observer. 
1  Full  of  quaint  and  delightful  studies  of  character.' — Bristol  Mercury. 

S.  Baring  Gould.  NOEMI  :  A  Romance  of  the  Cave-Dwellers. 
By  S.  BARING  GOULD.  Illustrated  by  R.  CATON  WOODVILLE. 
Third  Edition.  Crown  %vo.  6s. 

1  "  Noemi  "  is  as  excellent  a  tale  of  fighting  and  adventure  as  one  may  wish  to  meet. 

All  the  characters  that  interfere  in  this  exciting  tale  are  marked  with  properties 

of  their  own.     The  narrative  also  runs  clear  and  sharp  as  the  Loire  itself.' — 

Pall  Mall  Gazette. 
'  Mr.  Baring  Gould's  powerful  story  is  full  of  the  strong  lights  and  shadows  and 

vivid  colouring  to  which  he  has  accustomed  us.' — Standard. 

Mrs.  Oliphant.  SIR  ROBERT'S  FORTUNE.  By  MRS. 
OLIPHANT.  Crown  8vo.  6s. 

'  Full  of  her  own  peculiar  charm  of  style  and  simple,  subtle  character- painting  comes 
her  new  gift,  the  delightful  story  before  us.  The  scene  mostly  lies  in  the  moors, 
and  at  the  touch  of  the  authoress  a  Scotch  moor  becomes  a  living  thing,  strong, 
tender,  beautiful,  and  changeful.  The  book  will  take  rank  among  the  best  of 
Mrs.  Oliphant's  good  stories.' — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

W.E.Norris.  MATTHEW  AUSTIN.  By  W.  E.  NORRIS,  Author 
of  '  Mademoiselle  de  Mersac,'  etc.  Fourth  Edition.  Crown  8vo.  6s. 

1  "Matthew  Austin  "  may  safely  be  pronounced  one  of  the  most  intellectually  satis 
factory  and  morally  bracing  novels  of  the  current  year.' — Daily  Telegraph. 

W.  E.  Norris.    HIS  GRACE.     By  W.  E.  NORRIS,  Author  of 

'  Mademoiselle  de  Mersac. '     Third  Edition.     Crown  8v0.    6s. 

Mr.  Norris  has  drawn  a  really  fine  character  in  the  Duke  of  Hurstbourne,  at  once 
unconventional  and  very  true  to  the  conventionalities  of  life,  weak  and  strong  in 
a  breath,  capable  of  inane  follies  and  heroic  decisions,  yet  not  so  definitely  por 
trayed  as  to  relieve  a  reader  of  the  necessity  of  study  on  his  own  behalf.' — 
A  thenaum. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST  27 

W.  E,  Norris.  THE  DESPOTIC  LADY  AND  OTHERS. 
By  W.  E.  NORRIS,  Author  of  'Mademoiselle  de  Mersac.'  Crown 
8vo.  6s. 

'  A  budget  of  good  fiction  of  which  no  one  will  tire.' — Scotsman. 
'  An   extremely  entertaining  volume — the  sprightliest  of  holiday  companions.' — 
Daily  Telegraph. 

Gilbert  Parker.  PIERRE  AND  HIS  PEOPLE.  By  GILBERT 
PARKER.  Third  Edition.  Crown  8vo.  6s. 

'  Stories  happily  conceived  and  finely  executed.  There  is  strength  and  genius  in  Mr. 
Parker's  style.'— Daily  Telegraph. 

Gilbert  Parker.     MRS.  FALCHION.    By  GILBERT  PARKER, 

Author  of  Pierre  and  His  People.'  Second  Edition.    Crown  &vo.    6s. 

'  A  splendid  study  of  character.' — Atheti&um. 

1  But  little  behind  anything  that  has  been  done  by  any  writer  of  our  time.' — Pall 

Mall  Gazette. 
'  A  very  striking  and  admirable  novel.' — St.  James's  Gazette. 

Gilbert  Parker.    THE  TRANSLATION  OF  A  SAVAGE.    By 

GILBERT  PARKER.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

'  The  plot  is  original  and  one  difficult  to  work  out ;  but  Mr.  Parker  has  done  it  with 
great  skill  and  delicacy.     The  reader  who  is  not  interested  in  this  original,  fresh, 
and  well-told  tale  must  be  a  dull  person  indeed.' — Daily  Chronicle. 
'  A  strong  and  successful   piece  of  workmanship.     The  portrait  of  Lali,  strong, 
dignified,  and  pure,  is  exceptionally  well  drawn. ' — Manchester  Guardian. 

Gilbert  Parker.  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SWORD.  By  GILBERT 
PARKER.  Third  Edition.  Crown  %vo.  6s. 

'Everybody  with  a  soul  for  romance  will  thoroughly  enjoy  "The  Trail  of  the 
Sword."  ' — St.  James's  Gazette. 

1  A  rousing  and  dramatic  tale.  A  book  like  this,  in  which  swords  flash,  great  sur 
prises  are  undertaken,  and  daring  deeds  done,  in  which  men  and  women  live  and 
love  in  the  old  straightforward  passionate  way,  is  a  joy  inexpressible  to  the  re 
viewer,  brain-weary  of  the  domestic  tragedies  and  psychological  puzzles  of  every 
day  fiction  ;  and  we  cannot  but  believe  that  to  the  reader  it  will  bring  refreshment 
as  welcome  and  as  keen.' — Daily  Chronicle. 

Gilbert  Parker.    WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC  : 

The  Story  of  a  Lo^t  Napoleon.     By   GILBERT   PARKER.       Third 

Edition.     Crown  Sz'0.     6s. 

'  Here  we  find  romance— real,  breathing,  living  romance,  but  it  runs  flush  with  our 
own  times,  level  with  our  own  feelings.  Not  here  can  we  complain  of  lack  of 
inevitableness  or  homogeneity.  The  character  of  Valmond  is  drawn  unerringly  ; 
his  career,  brief  as  it  is,  is  placed  before  us  as  convincingly  as  history  itself.  The 
book  must  be  read,  we  may  say  re-read,  for  any  one  thoroughly  to  appreciate 
Mr.  Parker's  delicate  touch  and  innate  sympathy  with  humanity.' — Pall  Mall 
_  Gazette. 

'The  one  work  of  genius  which  1895  has  as  yet  produced.' — New  Age. 


28  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

Gilbert  Parker.     AN  ADVENTURER  OF  THE  NORTH: 

The  Last  Adventures  of  'Pretty  Pierre.'      By  GILBERT  PARKER. 
Crown  8vo.     6s. 

'  The  present  book  is  full  of  fine  and  moving  stories  of  the  great  North,  and  it  will 
add  to  Mr.  Parker's  already  high  reputation.' — Glasgow  Herald. 

'  The  new  book  is  very  romantic  and  very  entertaining — full  of  that  peculiarly 
elegant  spirit  of  adventure  which  is  so  characteristic  of  Mr.  Parker,  and  of  that 
poetic  thrill  which  has  given  him  warmer,  if  less  numerous,  admirers  than  even 
his  romantic  story-telling  gift  has  done.'— Sketch. 

H.  G.  Wells.  THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS,  and  other  Stories. 
By  H.  G.  WELLS,  Author  of  'The  Time  Machine.'  Crown 
8vo.  6s. 

'  The  ordinary  reader  of  fiction  may  be  glad  to  know  that  these  stories  are  eminently 
readable  from  one  cover  to  the  other,  but  they  are  more  than  that ;  they  are  the 
impressions  of  a  very  striking  imagination,  which  it  would  seem,  has  a  great  deal 
within  its  reach.' — Saturday  Review. 

Arthur  Morrison.  TALES  OF  MEAN  STREETS.  By  ARTHUR 
MORRISON.  77iird  Edition.  Crown  Svo.  6s. 

'  Told  with  consummate  art  and  extraordinary  detail.  He  tells  a  plain,  unvarnished 
tale,  and  the  very  truth  of  it  makes  for  beauty.  In  the  true  humanity  of  the  book 
lies  its  justification,  the  permanence  of  its  interest,  and  its  indubitable  triumph.' — 
A  thenceum. 

'  A  great  book.  The  author's  method  is  amazingly  effective,  and  produces  a  thrilling 
sense  of  reality.  The  writer  lays  upon  us  a  master  hand.  The  book  is  simply 
appalling  and  irresistible  in  its  interest.  It  is  humorous  also  ;  without  humour 
it  would  not  make  the  mark  it  is  certain  to  make.'— World. 

J.   Maclaren  Cobban.      THE   KING    OF   ANDAMAN  :    A 

Saviour  of  Society.     By  J.   MACLAREN  COBBAN,  Author  of  *  The 
Red  Sultan,'  etc.     Second  Edition.     Crown  &vo.     6s. 

1  An  unquestionably  interesting  book.  It  would  not  surprise  us  if  it  turns  out  to  be 
the  most  interesting  novel  of  the  season,  for  it  contains  one  character,  at  least, 
who  has  in  him  the  root  of  immortality,  and  the  book  itself  is  ever  exhaling  the 
sweet  savour  of  the  unexpected.  .  .  .  Plot  is  forgotten  and  incident  fades,  and 
only  the  really  human  endures,  and  throughout  this  book  there  stands  out  in  bold 
and  beautiful  relief  its  high-souled  and  chivalric  protagonist,  James  the  Master 
of  Hutchepn,  the  King  of  Andaman  himself.' — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 
A  most  original  and  refreshing  story.  The  supreme  charm  of  the  book  lies  in  the 
genial  humour  with  which  the  central  character  is  conceived.  James  Hutcheon 
is  a  personage  whom  it  is  good  to  know  and  impossible  to  forget.  He  is  beautiful 
within  and  without,  whichever  way  we  take  him.' — Spectator. 

'  "The  King  of  Andaman"  has  transcended  our  rosiest  expectations.  If  only  for 
the  brilliant  portraits  of  'the  Maister,'  and  his  false  friend  Fergus  O'Rhea,  the 
book  deserves  to  be  read  and  remembered.  The  sketches  of  the  Chartist  move 
ment  are  wonderfully  vivid  and  engrossing,  while  the  whole  episode  of  James 
Hutcheon's  fantastic  yet  noble  scheme  is  handled  with  wonderful  spirit  and 
sympathy.  "  The  King  of  Andaman,"  in  short,  is  a  book  which  does  credit  not 
less  to  the  heart  than  the  head  of  its  author.' — Athenceum. 

f  The  fact  that  Her  Majesty  the  Queen  has  been  pleased  to  gracefully  express  to  the 
author  of  "  The  King  of  Andaman"  her  interest  in  his  work  will  doubtless  find 
for  it  many  readers.' — Vanity  Fair. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST  29 

Julian  Corbett.    A  BUSINESS  IN  GREAT  WATERS.    By 

JULIAN    CORBETT,   Author  of  '  For  God  and    Gold,'  '  Kophetua 
Xlllth.,'  etc.     Crown  Si'O.     6s. 

'  In  this  stirring  story  Mr.  Julian  Corbett  has  done  excellent  work,  welcome  alike 
for  its  distinctly  literary  flavour,  and  for  the  wholesome  tone  which  pervades  it. 
Mr.  Corbett  writes  with  immense  spirit,  and  the  book  is  a  thoroughly  enjoyable 
one  in  all  respects.  The  salt  of  the  ocean  is  in  it,  and  the  right  heroic  ring  re 
sounds  through  its  gallant  adventures,  in  which  pirates,  smugglers,  sailors,  and 
refugees  are  mingled  in  picturesque  confusion,  with,  the  din  of  battle  and  the  soft 
strains  of  love  harmoniously  clashing  an  accompaniment.  We  trust  that  Mr. 
Corbett  will  soon  give  us  another  taste  of  his  qualities  in  a  novel  as  exciting,  as 
dramatic,  and  as  robustly  human,  as  "  A  Business  in  Great  Waters."  ' — Speaker. 

0.  Phillips  Woolley.  THE  QUEENSBERRY  CUP.  A  Tale 
of  Adventure.  By  CLIVE  PHILLIPS  WOOLLEY,  Author  of  '  Snap,' 
Editor  of  'Big  Game  Shooting.'  Illustrated.  Crown  8v0.  6s. 

This  is  a  story  of  amateur  pugilism  and  chivalrous  adventure,  written  by  an  author 
whose  books  on  sport  are  well  known. 

'  A  book  which  will  delight  boys :  a  book  which  upholds  the  healthy  schoolboy  code 
of  morality.' — Scotsman. 

'  A  brilliant  book.  Dick  St.  Clair,  of  Caithness,  is  an  almost  ideal  character — a  com 
bination  of  the  mediaeval  knight  and  the  modern  pugilist.' — Admiralty  and  Horse- 
guards  Gazette. 

'  If  all  heroes  of  boy's  books  were  as  truly  heroic  as  Dick  St.  Clair,  the  winner  of  the 
Queensberry  Cup,  we  should  have  nothing  to  complain  of  in  literature  specially 
written  for  boys.' — Educational  Review. 

Robert  Barr.  IN  THE  MIDST  OF  ALARMS.  By  ROBERT 
BARR,  Author  of  '  From  Whose  Bourne,'  etc.  Third  Edition. 
Crown  8vo.  6s. 

'  A  book  which  has  abundantly  satisfied  us  by  its  capital  humour.' — Daily  Chronicle. 

1  Mr.  Barr  has  achieved  a  triumph  whereof  he  has  every  reason  to  be  proud.' — Pall 
Mall  Gazette. 

L.  Daintrey.  THE  KING  OF  ALBERIA.  A  Romance  of 
the  Balkans.  By  LAURA  DAINTREY.  Crown  8vo.  6s. 

1  Miss  Daintrey  seems  to  have  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  people  and  politics 
of  the  Balkan  countries  in  which  the  scene  of  her  lively  and  picturesque  romance 
is  laid.  On  almost  every  page  we  find  clever  touches  of  local  colour  which  dif 
ferentiate  her  book  unmistakably  from  the  ordinary  novel  of  commerce.  The 
story  is  briskly  told,  and  well  conceived." — Glasgow  Herald. 

Mrs.  Pinsent.  CHILDREN  OF  THIS  WORLD.  By  ELLEN 
F.  PINSENT,  Author  of  *  Jenny's  Case.'  Crown  %vo.  6s. 

'  Mrs.  Pinsent's  new  novel  has  plenty  of  vigour,  variety,  and  good  writing.  There 
are  certainty  of  purpose,  strength  of  touch,  and  clearness  of  vision.' — Atheneeum. 

Clark  Russell.  MY  DANISH  SWEETHEART.  By  W. 
CLARK  RUSSELL,  Author  of  'The  Wreck  of  the  Grosvenor,'  etc. 
1  Illustrated.  Third  Edition.  Crown  Svo.  6s. 


3O  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

G.  Manville  Fenn.  AN  ELECTRIC  SPARK.  By  G.  MANVILLE 
FENN,  Author  of  '  The  Vicar's  Wife,'  '  A  Double  Knot,'  etc.    Second 
Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 
{A  simple  and  wholesome  story.' — Manchester  Guardian. 

Pryce.     TIME  AND  THE  WOMAN.    By  RICHARD  PRYCE, 

Author  of  'Miss  Maxwell's  Affections,'  *  The  Quiet  Mrs.  Fleming,' 
etc.     Second  Edition.     Crown  8v0.     6s. 

1  Mr.  Pryce's  work  recalls  the  style  of  Octave  Feuillet,  by  its  clearness,  conciseness, 
its  literary  reserve.' — AthencBum. 

Mrs.  Watson.  THIS  MAN'S  DOMINION.  By  the  Author 
of  '  A  High  Little  World.'  Second  Edition.  Crown  Svo.  6s. 

Marriott  Watson.  DIOGENES  OF  LONDON  and  other 
Sketches.  By  H.  B.  MARRIOTT  WATSON,  Author  of  'The  Web 
of  the  Spider.'  Crown  8vo.  Buckram.  6s. 

1  By  all  those  who  delight  in  the  uses  of  words,  who  rate  the  exercise  of  prose  above 
the  exercise  of  verse,  who  rejoice  in  all  proofs  of  its  delicacy  and  its  strength,  who 
believe  that  English  prose  is  chief  among  the  moulds  of  thought,  by  these 
Mr.  Marriott  Watson's  book  will  be  welcomed.' — National  Observer. 

Gilchrist.    THE  STONE  DRAGON.    By  MURRAY  GILCHRIST. 

Crown  8vo.    Buckram.    6s. 

'  The  author's  faults  are  atoned  for  by  certain  positive  and  admirable  merits.  The 
romances  have  not  their  counterpart  in  modern  literature,  and  to  read  them  is  a 
unique  experience.' — National  Observer. 

THREE-AND-SIXPENNY     NOVELS 

Edna   Lyall.      DERRICK    VAUGHAN,    NOVELIST.      By 

EDNA  LYALL,  Author  of  'Donovan,'  etc.     Forty-first  Thousand. 
Crown  Xvo.     3^.  6d. 

Baring  Gould.  ARM  I  NELL  :  A  Social  Romance.  By  S. 
BARING  GOULD.  New  Edition.  Crown  8vo.  %s.  6d. 

Baring  Gould.  MARGERY  OF  QUETHER,  and  other  Stories. 
By  S.  BARING  GOULD.  Crown  8vo.  3-r.  6d. 

Baring  Gould.  JACQUETTA,  and  other  Stories.  By  S.  BARING 
GOULD.  Crown  8v0.  3^.  6d. 

Miss   Benson.      SUBJECT   TO  VANITY.     By   MARGARET 

BENSON.      With  numerous  Illustrations.     Second  Edition.      Crown 

Svo.     3*.  6d. 
1  A  charming  little  book  about  household  pets  by  a  daughter  of  the  Archbishop  of 

Canterbury.  '—Speaker. 
1 A  delightful  collection  of  studies  of  animal  nature.     It  is  very  seldom  that  we  get 

anything  so  perfect  in  its  kind.  .  .  .  The  illustrations  are  clever,  and  the  whole 

book  a  singularly  delightful  one.1— Guardian. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST  31 

Mary  Gaunt.     THE  MOVING  FINGER:  Chapters  from  the 

Romance  of  Australian  Life.    By  MARY  GAUNT,  Author  of  '  Dave's 

Sweetheart. '     Croivn  8vo.     3^.  6d. 
1  Rich  in  local  colour,  and  replete  with  vigorous  character  sketches.    They  strike  us 

as  true  to  the  life." — Times. 
'  Unmistakably  powerful.      Tragedies  in  the  bush  and  riot  in  the  settlement  are 

portrayed  for  us  in  vivid  colour  and  vigorous  outline.' — Westminster  Gazette. 

Gray.  ELSA.  A  Novel.  By  E.  M'QUEEN  GRAY.  Crown  Zvo. 
3-r.  6d. 

J.  H.  Pearce.    JACO  TRELOAR.    By  J.  H.  PEARCE,  Author  of 

'  Esther  Pentreath. '    New  Edition.     Crown  8vo.     $s.  6d. 
The    Spectator '  speaks  of  Mr.  Pearce  as  '  a  writer  of 'exceptional power ';  the  'Daily 
Telegraph'  calls  the  book  '  powerful  and  picturesque  ' ;  the  '  Birmingham  Post' 
asserts  that  it  is  'a  novel  of  high  quality.* 

X.  L.  AUT  DIABOLUS  AUT  NIHIL,  and  Other  Stories. 
By  X.  L.  Second  Edition.  Crown  8vo.  3*.  6J. 

'  Distinctly  original  and  in  the  highest  degree  imaginative.  The  conception  is  almost 
as  lofty  as  Milton's.' — Spectator. 

'  Original  to  a  degree  of  originality  that  may  be  called  primitive — a  kind  of  passion 
ate  directness  that  absolutely  absorbs  us." — Saturday  Review. 


ly  absorbs  us." — Saturday  Rt 
is  something  startlingly  origir 
themes.    The  terrible  realism  leaves  no  doubt  of  the  author's  power.' — Athcnteum. 


Of  powerful  interest.    There  is  something  startlingly  original  in  the  treatment  of  the 

t of  the 


O'Grady.  THE  COMING  OF  CUCULAIN.  A  Romance  of 
the  Heroic  Age  of  Ireland.  By  STANDISH  O'GRADY,  Author  of 
*  Finn  and  his  Companions.'  Illustrated.  Crown  8vo.  3^.  6d. 

'  The  suggestions  of  mystery,  the  rapid  and  exciting  action,  are  superb  poetic  effects.' 
—Speaker. 

'  For  light  and  colour  it  resembles  nothing  so  much  as  a  Swiss  dawn.' — Manchester 
Guardian. 

Constance  Smith.     A   CUMBERER   OF   THE    GROUND. 

By  CONSTANCE  SMITH,  Author  of  '  The  Repentance  of  Paul  Went- 
worth,'  etc.     New  Edition.     Crown  8vo.     3^.  6d. 

Author  of  'Vera.'     THE   DANCE  OF  THE  HOURS.     By 

the  Author  of  '  Vera.'     Crown  8vo.     3*.  6d. 

Esmfc  Stuart.  A  WOMAN  OF  FORTY.  By  ESME  STUART, 
Author  of  'Muriel's  Marriage,'  *  Virginia's  Husband,'  etc.  New 
Edition.  Crown  8vo.  %s.  6d. 

'The  story  is  well  written,  and  some  of  the  scenes  show  great  dramatic  power.' — 
Daily  Chronicle. 

Fenn.  THE  STAR  GAZERS.  By  G.  MANVILLE  FENN, 
Author  of  '  Eli's  Children,'  etc.  New  Edition.  Cr.  8vo.  35.  6d. 

'A  stirring  romance.' — Western  Morning  News. 

'  Told  with  all  the  dramatic  power  for  which  Mr.  Fenn  is  conspicuous.'— Bradford 
Observer. 


32  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

Dickinson.     A  VICAR'S  WIFE.     By   EVELYN    DICKINSON. 

Crown  8v0.     %s.  6d. 

Prowse.    THE  POISON  OF  ASPS.     By  R.  ORTON  PROWSE. 

Crozvn  8vo.     $s.  6d. 

R.  Pryce.     THE  QUIET  MRS.  FLEMING.     By  R.  PRYCE. 
Crown  Svo.     ^s.  6d, 


Lynn  Linton.  THE  TRUE  HISTORY  OF  JOSHUA  DAVID 
SON,  Christian  and  Communist.  By  E.  LYNN  LINTON.  Eleventh 
Edition.  Post  8vo.  is. 


HALF-CROWN      NOVELS 

A  Series  of  Novels  by  popular  Authors 


2/6 


1.  THE  PLAN  OF  CAMPAIGN.     By  F.  MABEL  ROBINSON. 

2.  DISENCHANTMENT.     By  F.  MABEL  ROBINSON. 

3.  MR.  BUTLER'S  WARD.     By  F.  MABEL  ROBINSON. 

4.  HOVENDEN,  V.C.    By  F.  MABEL  ROBINSON. 

5.  ELI'S  CHILDREN.  By  G.  MANVILLE  FENN. 

6.  A  DOUBLE  KNOT.    By  G.  MANVILLE  FENN. 

7.  DISARMED.    By  M.  BETHAM  EDWARDS. 

8.  A  LOST  ILLUSION.    By  LESLIE  KEITH. 

9.  A  MARRIAGE  AT  SEA.     By  W.  CLARK  RUSSELL. 

10.  IN  TENT  AND  BUNGALOW.    By  the  Author  of  '  Indian 

Idylls.' 

11.  MY  STEWARDSHIP.    By  E.  M'QUEEN  GRAY. 

12.  A  REVEREND  GENTLEMAN.     By  J.  M.  COBBAN. 

13.  A  DEPLORABLE  AFFAIR.      By  W.  E.   NORRIS. 

14.  JACK'S  FATHER.     By  W.  E.  NORRIS. 

15.  A  CAVALIER'S  LAD  YE.     By  Mrs.  DICKER. 

1 6.  JIM  B, 


Books  for  Boys  and  Girls 

A  Series  of  Books  by  well-known  Authors,  well  illustrated. 
Crown  %vo. 


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1.  THE  ICELANDER'S  SWORD.     By  S.  BARING  GOULD. 

2.  TWO   LITTLE   CHILDREN   AND   CHING.     By  EDITH 

E.  COTHELL. 

3.  TODDLEBEN'S  HERO.    By  M.  M.  BLAKE. 

4.  ONLY  A  GUARD  ROOM  DOG.    By    EDITH  E.  CUTHELI, 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST  33 

5.  THE  DOCTOR  OF  THE  JULIET.    By  HARRY  COLLING- 

WOOD. 

6.  MASTER  ROCKAFELLAR'S  VOYAGE.     By  W.   CLARK 

RUSSELL. 

7.  SYD  B ELTON  :    Or,  The  Boy  who  would  not  go  to  Sea. 

By  G.  MANVILLE  FENN. 

The  Peacock  Library 

A   Series  of  Books  for  Girls   by  well-known    Authors,  /X 

handsomely  bound  in  bhie  and  silver,  and  well  illustrated.         jL  I  f~) 
Crown  8v0.  J  / 

1.  A  PINCH  OF  EXPERIENCE.    By  L.  B.  WALFORD. 

2.  THE  RED  GRANGE.    By  Mrs.  MOLESWORTH. 

3.  THE  SECRET  OF  MADAME  DE  MONLUC.      By  the 

Author  of  *  Mdle  Mori.' 

4.  DUMPS.    By  Mrs.  PARR,  Author  of '  Adam  and  Eve.' 

5.  OUT  OF  THE  FASHION.    By  L.  T.  MEADE. 

6.  A  GIRL  OF  THE  PEOPLE.    By  L.  T.  MEADE. 

7.  HEPSY  GIPSY.    By  L.  T.  MEADE.    2s.  6d. 

8.  THE  HONOURABLE  MISS.    By  L.  T.  MEADE. 

9.  MY  LAND  OF  BEULAH.    By  Mrs.  LEITH  ADAMS. 

University    Extension   Series 

A  series  of  books  on  historical,  literary,  and  scientific  subjects,  suitable 
for  extension  students  and  home-reading  circles.  Each  volume  is  com 
plete  in  itself,  and  the  subjects  are  treated  by  competent  writers  in  a 
broad  and  philosophic  spirit. 

Edited  byj.  E.  SYMES,  M.A., 

Principal  of  University  College,  Nottingham. 

Crown  Svo.     Price  {with  some  exceptions')  2s.  6d. 

The  following  volumes  are  ready : — 

THE  INDUSTRIAL  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.    By  H.  DE 

B.  GIBBINS,  M.A.,  late  Scholar  of  Wadham  College,  Oxon.,  Cobden 
Prizeman.     Fourth  Edition.      With  Maps  and  Plans.     T>S. 

'A  compact  and  clear  story  of  our  industrial  development.  A  study  of  this  concise 
but  luminous  book  cannot  fail  to  give  the  reader  a  clear  insight  into  the  principal 
phenomena  of  our  industrial  history.  The  editor  and  publishers  are  to  be  congrat 
ulated  on  this  first  volume  of  their  venture,  and  we  shall  look  with  expectant 
interest  for  the  succeeding  volumes  of  the  series.'—  University  Extension  Journal. 


34  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

A  HISTORY  OF  ENGLISH  POLITICAL  ECONOMY.   By 

L.  L.  PRICE,  M.A.,  Fellow  of  Oriel  College,  Oxon.    Second  Edition. 

PROBLEMS  OF   POVERTY  :  An  Inquiry  into  the  Industrial 
Conditions  of  the  Poor.     ByJ.  A.  HOBSON,  M.A.     Second  Edition. 

VICTORIAN  POETS.    By  A.  SHARP. 

THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION.    By  J.  E.  SYMES,  M.A. 

PSYCHOLOGY.    By  F.  S.  GRANGER,  M.A.,  Lecturer  in  Philo 
sophy  at  University  College,  Nottingham. 

THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PLANT  LIFE :  Lower  Forms.    By 
G.  MASSEE,  Kew  Gardens.      With  Illustrations. 

AIR  AND  WATER.    Professor  V.  B.  LEWES,  M.A.    Illustrated. 

THE  CHEMISTRY  OF  LIFE  AND  HEALTH.      By  C.  W. 
KIMMINS,  M.A.  Camb.     Illustrated. 

THE  MECHANICS  OF  DAILY  LIFE.    By  V.  P.  SELLS,  M.A. 
Illustrated. 

ENGLISH  SOCIAL  REFORMERS.    H.  DE  B.  GIBBINS,  M.A. 

ENGLISH    TRADE   AND    FINANCE    IN  THE   SEVEN- 
TEENTH  CENTURY.   By  W.  A.  S.  HEWINS,  B.A. 

THE  CHEMISTRY  OF  FIRE.    The  Elementary  Principles  of 
Chemistry.    By  M.  M.  PATTISON  MUIR,  M.A.    Illustrated. 

A  TEXT-BOOK  OF  AGRICULTURAL  BOTANY.   ByM.C. 
POTTER,  M.A.,  F.L.S.     Illustrated,     y  &*• 

THE  VAULT    OF    HEAVEN.      A   Popular   Introduction    to 
Astronomy.     By  R.  A.  GREGORY.      With  numerous  Illustrations. 

METEOROLOGY.     The   Elements  of  Weather  and   Climate. 
By  H.  N.  DICKSON,  F.R.S.E.,  F.R.  Met.  Soc.    Illustrated. 

A  MANUAL   OF   ELECTRICAL   SCIENCE.     By  GEORGE 
J.  BURCH,  M.A.      With  numerous  Illustrations.     3*. 

THE  EARTH.    An  Introduction  to  Physiography.     By  EVAN 
SMALL,  M.A.     Illustrated. 

INSECT   LIFE.     By  F.  W.  THEOBALD,  M.A.     Illustrated. 

ENGLISH  POETRY  FROM  BLAKE  TO  BROWNING.   By 
W.  M.  DIXON,  M.A. 

ENGLISH   LOCAL   GOVERNMENT.      By  E  JENKS,  M.A, 
Professor  of  Law  at  University  College,  Liverpool. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST  35 

Social  Questions  of  To-day 

Edited  by  H.  DE  B.  GIBBINS,  M.A. 

Crown  %vo.     2s.  6d.  ^  \r\ 

A  series  of  volumes  upon  those  topics  of  social,  economic,  +*  I  ^J 

and  industrial  interest  that  are  at  the  present  moment  fore-  ' 
most  in  the  public  mind.     Each  volume  of  the  series  is  written  by  an 

author  who  is  an  acknowledged  authority  upon  the  subject  with  which 
he  deals. 

The  following  Volumes  of  the  Series  are  ready : — 

TRADE  UNIONISM— NEW  AND  OLD.      By  G.   HOWELL, 
Author  of  '  The  Conflicts  of  Capital  and  Labour.'    Second  Edition. 

THE  CO-OPERATIVE   MOVEMENT   TO-DAY.      By  G.  J, 
HOLYOAKE,  Author  of  '  The  History  of  Co-operation.' 

MUTUAL  THRIFT.     By  Rev.  J.  FROME  WILKINSON,  M.A., 

Author  of  '  The  Friendly  Society  Movement.' 

PROBLEMS  OF  POVERTY  :  An  Inquiry  into  the  Industrial 
Conditions  of  the  Poor.     By  J.  A.  HOBSON,  M.A.     Second  Edition. 

THE  COMMERCE    OF   NATIONS.      By   C.   F.   BASTABLE, 
M.A.,  Professor  of  Economics  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin. 

THE  ALIEN  INVASION.   By  W.  H.  WILKINS,  B.A.,  Secretary 
to  the  Society  for  Preventing  the  Immigration  of  Destitute  Aliens. 

THE  RURAL  EXODUS.    By  P.  ANDERSON  GRAHAM. 
LAND  NATIONALIZATION.    By  HAROLD  Cox,  B.A. 

A   SHORTER   WORKING   DAY.      By  H.  DE  B.   GIBBINS 
and  R.  A.  HADFIELD,  of  the  Hecla  Works,  Sheffield. 

BACK  TO  THE  LAND  :  An  Inquiry  into  the  Cure  for  Rural 
Depopulation.     By  H.  E.  MOORE. 

TRUSTS,  POOLS  AND  CORNERS  :  As  affecting  Commerce 
and  Industry.     By  J.  STEPHEN  JEANS,  M.  R. I. ,  F.  S.  S. 

THE  FACTORY  SYSTEM.     By  R.  COOKE  TAYLOR. 

THE    STATE    AND    ITS    CHILDREN.      By    GERTRUDE 

TUCKWELL. 

WOMEN'S  WORK.     By   LADY   DILKE,   Miss  BULLEY,  and 
Miss  WHITLEY. 


36  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

MUNICIPALITIES  AT  WORK.  The  Municipal  Policy  of 
Six  Great  Towns,  and  its  Influence  on  their  Social  Welfare. 
By  FREDERICK  DOLMAN. 

SOCIALISM  AND  MODERN  THOUGHT.     By  M.  KAUF- 

MANN. 

THE   HOUSING   OF  THE  WORKING  CLASSES.     By  R. 

F.  BOWMAKER, 

Classical  Translations 

Edited  by  H.  F.  FOX,  M.A.,  Fellow  and  Tutor  of  Brasenose 
College,  Oxford. 

Messrs.  Methuen  are  issuing  a  New  Series  of  Translations  from  the 
Greek  and  Latin  Classics.  They  have  enlisted  the  services  of  some 
of  the  best  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Scholars,  and  it  is  their  intention  that 
the  Series  shall  be  distinguished  by  literary  excellence  as  well  as  by 
scholarly  accuracy. 

-^SCHYLUS — Agamemnon,  Choephoroe,  Eumenides.  Trans 
lated  by  LEWIS  CAMPBELL,  LL.D.,  late  Professor  of  Greek  at  St. 
Andrews.  5^. 

CICERO— De  Oratore  I.  Translated  by  E.  N.  P.  MOOR,  M.A., 
Assistant  Master  at  Clifton.  3^.  6d. 

CICERO— Select  Orations  (Pro  Milone,  Pro  Murena,  Philippic  11., 
In  Catilinam).  Translated  by  H.  E.  D.  BLAKISTON,  M.A.,  Fellow 
and  Tutor  of  Trinity  College,  Oxford.  5^ 

CICERO— De  Natura  Deorum.  Translated  by  F.  BROOKS, 
M.  A.,  late  Scholar  of  Balliol  College,  Oxford.  3*.  6d. 

LUCIAN— Six  Dialogues  (Nigrinus,  Icaro-Menippus,  The  Cock, 
The  Ship,  The  Parasite,  The  Lover  of  Falsehood).  Translated  by 
S.  T.  IRWIN,  M.A.,  Assistant  Master  at  Clifton;  late  Scholar  of 
Exeter  College,  Oxford.  3*.  6d. 

SOPHOCLES— Electra  and  Ajax.  Translated  by  E.  D.  A. 
MORSHEAD,  M.A.,  late  Scholar  of  New  College,  Oxford  ;  Assistant 
Master  at  Winchester.  2s.  6d. 

TACITUS— Agricola  and  Germania.  Translated  by  R.  B. 
TOWNSHEND,  late  Scholar  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  2s.  6d. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST  37 

Educational  Books 

CLASSICAL 

TACITI  AGRICOLA.  With  Introduction,  Notes,  Map,  etc. 
By  R.  F.  DAVIS,  M.A.,  Assistant  Master  at  Weymouth  College. 
Crown  Svo.  2s. 

TACITI  GERMANIA.    By  the  same  Editor.    CrewnSvo.    2s. 

HERODOTUS :  EASY  SELECTIONS.  With  Vocabulary. 
By  A.  C.  LIDDELL,  M.A.,  Assistant  Master  at  Nottingham  High 
School.  Fcap.  Svo.  is.  6d. 

SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  ODYSSEY.     By  E.  D.  STONE, 

M.A.,  late  Assistant  Master  at  Eton.     Fcap.  Svo.     is.  6d. 

PLAUTUS  :  THE  CAPTIVI.  Adapted  for  Lower  Forms  by 
J.  H.  FREESE,  M.  A.,  late  Fellow  of  St.  John's,  Cambridge,  u.  6d. 

DEMOSTHENES  AGAINST  CONON   AND   CALLICLES. 

Edited  with  Notes,  and  Vocabulary,  by  F.  DARWIN  SWIFT,  M.A., 
formerly  Scholar  of  Queen's  College,  Oxford  ;  Assistant  Master  at 
Denstone  College.  Fcap.  Svo.  2s. 

GERMAN 

A  COMPANION  GERMAN  GRAMMAR.  By  H.  DE  B. 
GIBBINS,  M.A.,  Assistant  Master  at  Nottingham  High  School. 
Crown  Svo.  is.  6d. 

GERMAN    PASSAGES    FOR   UNSEEN    TRANSLATION. 

By  E.  M'QuEEN  GRAY.     Crown  Svo.     2s.  6ft. 

SCIENCE 

THE  WORLD  OF  SCIENCE.  Including  Chemistry,  Heat, 
Light,  Sound,  Magnetism,  Electricity,  Botany,  Zoology,  Physiology, 
Astronomy,  and  Geology.  By  R.  ELLIOT  STEEL,  M.A.,  F.C.S. 

147  Illustrations.     Second  Edition.     Crown  Svo.     2s.  6d. 

1  Mr.  Steel's  Manual  is  admirable  in  many  ways.  The  book  is  well  calculated  to 
attract  and  retain  the  attention  of  the  young." — Saturday  Review. 

'  If  Mr.  Steel  is  to  be  placed  second  to  any  for  this  quality  of  lucidity,  it  is  only  to 
Huxley  himself;  and  to  be  named  in  the  same  breath  with  this  master  of  the 
craft  of  teaching  is  to  be  accredited  with  the  clearness  of  (Style  and  simplicity  of 
arrangement  that  belong  to  thorough  mastery  of  a  subject.' — Parents'  Review. 

ELEMENTARY  LIGHT.  By  R.  E.  STEEL.  With  numerous 
Illustrations.  Crown  Svo.  4*.  6d. 


38  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

ENGLISH 

ENGLISH  RECORDS.  A  Companion  to  the  History  of 
England.  By  H.  E.  MALDEN,  M.A.  Crown  8vo.  $s.  6d. 

A  book  which  aims  at  concentrating  information  upon  dates,  genealogy,  officials, 
constitutional  documents,  etc.,  which  is  usually  found  scattered  in  different 
volumes. 

THE  ENGLISH  CITIZEN  :  HIS  RIGHTS  AND  DUTIES. 
By  H.  E.  MALDEN,  M.A.  is.  6d. 

1  The  book  goes  over  the  same  ground  as  is  traversed  in  the  school  books  on  this 
subject  written  to  satisfy  the  requirements  of  the  Education  code.  It  would 
serve  admirably  the  purposes  of  a  text-book,  as  it  is  well  based  in  historical 
facts,  and  keeps  quite  clear  of  party  matters.' — Scotsman. 

METHUEN'S  COMMERCIAL  SERIES. 

BRITISH  COMMERCE  AND  COLONIES  FROM  ELIZA 
BETH  TO  VICTORIA.  By  H.  DE  B.  GIBBINS,  M.  A.,  Author  of 
*  The  Industrial  History  of  England,'  etc.  etc.  2s. 

COMMERCIAL  EXAMINATION  PAPERS.  By  H.  DE  B. 
GIBBINS,  M.A.  is.  6d. 

THE  ECONOMICS  OF  COMMERCE.  By  H.  DE  B.  GIBBINS, 
M.A.  is.  6J. 

A  MANUAL  OF  FRENCH  COMMERCIAL  CORRES 
PONDENCE.  By  S.  E.  BALLY,  Modern  Language  Master  at 
the  Manchester  Grammar  School.  2s. 

A  FRENCH  COMMERCIAL  READER,      By  S.  E.  BALLY. 

2S. 

COMMERCIAL  GEOGRAPHY,  with  special  reference  to  Trade 
Routes,  New  Markets,  and  Manufacturing  Districts.  By  L.  W.  LYDE, 
M.  A. ,  of  the  Academy,  Glasgow.  2s. 

A  PRIMER  OF  BUSINESS.    By  S.  JACKSON,  M.A.     is.  6d. 

COMMERCIAL  ARITHMETIC.  By  F.  G.  TAYLOR, 
M.A.  15.  6d. 

WORKS  BY  A.  M.  M.  STEDMAN,  M.A. 

INITIA   LATINA:    Easy  Lessons  on  Elementary  Accidence. 

Second  Edition.     Fcap.  8v0.     is. 
FIRST  LATIN  LESSONS.    Fourth  Edition.     CrownZvo.    2s. 


MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST  39 

FIRST  LATIN  READER.  With  Notes  adapted  to  the 
Shorter  Latin  Primer  and  Vocabulary.  Second  Edition.  Crown  %vo. 
is.  6d. 

EASY  SELECTIONS  FROM  CAESAR.  Part  I.  The  Hel 
vetian  War.  i%mo.  is. 

EASY  SELECTIONS  FROM  LIVY.  Part  I.  The  Kings  of 
Rome.  iSmo.  is.  6d. 

EASY  LATIN  PASSAGES  FOR  UNSEEN  TRANSLA 
TION.  Third  Edition.  Fcap.  %vo.  is.  6d. 

EXEMPLA  LATINA.  First  Lessons  in  Latin  Accidence. 
With  Vocabulary.  Crown  Svo.  is. 

EASY  LATIN  EXERCISES  ON  THE  SYNTAX  OF  THE 
SHORTER  AND  REVISED  LATIN  PRIMER.  With  Vocabu 
lary.  Fourth  Edition.  Crown  8vo.  2s.  6d.  Issued  with  the  con 
sent  of  Dr.  Kennedy. 

THE  LATIN  COMPOUND  SENTENCE  :  Rules  and 
Exercises.  Crown  8vo.  is.  6d.  With  Vocabulary.  2s. 

NOTANDA  QUAEDAM  :  Miscellaneous  Latin  Exercises  on 
Common  Rules  and  Idioms.  Second  Edition.  Fcap.  8vo.  is.  6d. 
With  Vocabulary,  2s. 

LATIN  VOCABULARIES  FOR  REPETITION  :  Arranged 
according  to  Subjects.  Fourth,  Edition.  Fcap.  8vo.  is.  6d. 

A  VOCABULARY  OF  LATIN  IDIOMS  AND  PHRASES. 
iSmo.  is. 

STEPS  TO  GREEK.     i8wo.     is. 

EASY  GREEK  PASSAGES  FOR  UNSEEN  TRANSLA- 
LATION.  Fcap.  8vo.  is.  6d. 

EASY  GREEK  EXERCISES  ON  ELEMENTARY  SYNTAX. 
(In  preparation. ) 

GREEK  VOCABULARIES  FOR  REPETITION.  Arranged 
according  to  Subjects.  Second  Edition.  Fcap,  8vo.  is.  6d. 

GREEK  TESTAMENT  SELECTIONS.  For  the  use  of 
Schools.  Third  Edition.  With  Introduction,  Notes,  and  Vocabu 
lary.  Fcap.  Sz>0.  2s.  6d. 


4o  MESSRS.  METHUEN'S  LIST 

STEPS  TO  FRENCH.     18*10.    M. 

FIRST  FRENCH  LESSONS.     Crown  Svo.     is. 

EASY  FRENCH  PASSAGES  FOR  UNSEEN  TRANSLA 
TION.  Second  Edition.  Fcap.  Svo.  is.  6d. 

EASY  FRENCH  EXERCISES  ON  ELEMENTARY 
SYNTAX.  With  Vocabulary.  Crown  Svo.  2s.  6d. 

FRENCH  VOCABULARIES  FOR  REPETITION  :  Arranged 
according  to  Subjects.  Third  Edition.  Fcap.%vo.  is. 

SCHOOL  EXAMINATION  SERIES. 
EDITED  BY  A.  M.  M.  STEDMAN,  M.A. 

Crown  Svo.     2s.  6d. 

FRENCH  EXAMINATION  PAPERS  IN  MISCELLANE 
OUS  GRAMMAR  AND  IDIOMS.  By  A.  M.  M.  STEDMAN,  M.A. 
Sixth  Edition. 

A  KEY,  issued  to  Tutors  and  Private  Students  only,  to  be  had  on 
application  to  the  Publishers.   Second  Edition.    Crown  Svo.    6s.  net. 

LATIN  EXAMINATION  PAPERS  IN  MISCELLANEOUS 
GRAMMAR  AND  IDIOMS.  By  A.  M.  M.  STEDMAN,  M.A. 
Fourth  Edition.  Key  issued  as  above.  6s.  net. 

GREEK  EXAMINATION  PAPERS  IN  MISCELLANEOUS 
GRAMMAR  AND  IDIOMS.  By  A.  M.  M.  STEDMAN,  M.A. 
Third  Edition.  Key  issued  as  above.  6s.  net. 

GERMAN  EXAMINATION  PAPERS  IN  MISCELLANE 
OUS  GRAMMAR  AND  IDIOMS.  By  R.  J.  MORICH,  Man 
chester.  Third  Edition.  KEY  issued  as  above.  6s.  net. 

HISTORY  AND  GEOGRAPHY  EXAMINATION  PAPERS. 
By  C.  H.  SPENCE,  M.A.,  Clifton  Coll. 

SCIENCE  EXAMINATION  PAPERS.  By  R.  E.  STEEL,  M.A., 
F.C.S.,  Chief  Natural  Science  Master,  Bradford  Grammar  School. 
In  two  vols.  Part  I.  Chemistry ;  Part  II.  Physics. 

GENERAL  KNOWLEDGE  EXAMINATION  PAPERS. 
By  A.  M.  M.  STEDMAN,  M,  A.  Second  Edition.  KEY  issued  as 
above.  7-r.  net. 


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